Lucy and the Future King
by Kagura
Summary: There is a thin line separating fantasy and reality. And for Lucy and Caspian, it just got thinner.
1. Prologue

Hey guys! I finally found a beta reader. Many thanks to PinkTribeChick for fixing my mistakes. I owe her so much.

* * *

Eleven-year-old Lucy Pevensie sat on the staircase just outside the living room, huddled against her older sister Susan. Edmund was crouched at the base of the steps, his head to the ground, dark eyes focused on some abstract pattern in the wood. Peter, the eldest of the Pevensie children, paced steadily across the foyer, desperately trying to look brave and determined. The staccato of his footsteps echoed off the walls like the firing of a pistol, but they couldn't shut out the voices from inside the living room.

Lucy had peeked into the room briefly before Susan tugged her back. There was a portly, elderly gentleman with droopy eyes and a thick mustache. He was smoking her father's cigars. Browsing through her mother's knitting basket was a thin, angular woman with cruel eyes and a harsh mouth. These two individuals she did not know, but the person directing the meeting, she did. By the fire stood Roderick Baxter, bald and red-faced, in his usual splotchy state. Like always, he was constantly wiping the perspiration from his forehead, even though the room was not hot.

These were the people who were deciding the fate of Lucy and her siblings.

"They can't stay here," the woman said softly, meekly. Lucy didn't like meek women.

"Of course not!" Mr. Baxter's voice hit a high, screechy note, most unbecoming of a man. "The oldest is not yet eighteen."

"Then what do we do with them? There is no one who will take them, not even their own family. And their inheritance is not enough to sustain them." It was that meek woman again.

Lucy watched sadly as Susan covered her ears with her hands, trying to shut out the words being said with such casual brutality. But nothing could stop the relentless bickering of the adults her parents had once called friends.

"We could put them up for adoption. The younger two could find homes, and the older two would only have to spend a few years in the orphanage." Mr. Baxter's idea was met with a small sound of agreement from the woman, timid as she was.

"We will _not _put them up for adoption, and neither will we send them to an orphanage. They'll go away to school, the finest we can find. Their inheritance is more than enough to cover the rest of their education." As insignificant as he seemed, the elderly gentleman had a surprisingly forceful voice. "And since the two of you have not an ounce of compassion for the children, I will be the one handling their finances."

While this should have comforted the children, it only made their hearts ache. As the final details were discussed and argued over, Lucy looked at everything she could, committing every detail to memory. This was the place where she had lived her entire life. Everything seemed so ordinary, so mundane. It was as if nothing had happened. She fully expected her parents to come in through the front door, their cheeks rosy from the cold air. Her mother would be smiling brightly, beckoning her children for warm hugs. And her father would be there, bundled smartly in his leather gloves and black wool coat. He'd tap her chin with his finger and tell her she got it from him.

But they would never come home again, and it seemed neither would the Pevensie children.

* * *

"I cannot believe your insolence, boy! Do you seek to frustrate me with your every action?" Miraz glared at his nephew with all the fury of a powerful dictator, but it was wasted on the boy.

"Are you finished? I'm tired, and you've yet to get to your point," Caspian replied without any inflection, waving off his uncle's anger with a dismissive attitude and sarcastic wit.

"Foolish boy! Do you think you're brave, speaking as you do?" Though Miraz spoke with the aristocratic accent of royalty, the spittle flying from his mouth ruined any chance of appearing regal.

With a heavy sigh, Caspian arose from the chaise lounge he'd been sitting on during his uncle's tirade. "Uncle, I am going to bed. I give you full permission to berate me in the morning. Maybe you'll be less cranky after a nap."

While Miraz stood appalled and shocked speechless, Caspian made a hasty exit, pointedly slamming the doors on his way. Quick on his feet, he made his way to his suite with practiced ease, dismissing the servants who fluttered around him, ready to pander to his every need. The only thing he needed he needed was peace and quiet.

Once the young prince was satisfied that he was alone, he let his indifferent mask fall, revealing just how weary he truly was. The lines around his mouth made him seem much older than he really was, and there was a certain flatness to his once youthful eyes.

In his muddy boots and torn clothing, he was wildly out of place amongst the silk and velvet splendor of his own bedroom. But it was more than just his appearance that was ill-suited for castle life.

Without bothering to change, or even take off his shoes, he collapsed in his bed, absently drawing the drapes closed before burying himself underneath the numerous plush blankets and downy pillows.

Before sleep claimed him, Caspian couldn't help but wonder if the palace was his home, or simply a pretty cage.

* * *

Anyways, I hope you liked it!


	2. Chapter One

Oh, hello there! May I introduce you to my friend, Chapter One? He's been recently beta'ed. I think you will get along perfectly.

* * *

Lucy awoke to the incessant ringing of her alarm clock, which was painfully loud, even through the pillow she'd tugged over her head. When the sound became too hard to ignore, she reluctantly sat up and set about unraveling herself from her linen prison. Though her joints were stiff and aching with the remnants of sleep, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing as her bare feet met the cold floor.

For a few long moments, she just sat there, perched on the edge of her mattress as awareness replaced her blurred vision. And then she was getting ready for the day without much presence of mind. She brushed her hair, packed her school bag, and put on the uniform every girl at St. George's Academy wore. Lucy reflected that the outfit flattered no one, not even the prettiest, most popular girl. The roomy fit and conservative hem must have been designed for aspiring nuns, not young schoolgirls.

With only a few more minutes before the morning bell rang, she smiled and pinched her cheeks in a futile attempt to add color to her face. On her way out, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Little had changed about her appearance since she'd left her childhood home three years before. Her hair had grown out some, and her face was thinner; other than that, she was still the same girl with pale skin and wide eyes.

But she had lost her youthful luster, and the wild quality that had once defined her was curiously missing, leaving her empty and unfulfilled.

That morning, Lucy did not like what she saw in the mirror.

* * *

Caspian knew his uncle did not like him. He was well aware that Miraz took many female lovers, in hopes of a male heir. It was a commonly known fact that the king was constantly trying to rid himself of the young prince.

But until that morning, Caspian did not realize just how deep Miraz's hatred went.

They were at the breakfast table, enjoying a royal spread of scones and clotted cream, with several varieties of fruit and freshly brewed tea.

But they weren't the only ones dining that morning.

As usual, Miraz was at the head of the table, dressed in luxurious furs and colorful silks. Caspian sat to his right, still in the clothes he had worn the day before. As the antithesis to his uncle's gaudy show of etiquette, he didn't bother with trying to sit up straight or keep his elbows off the table. In the seat across from him was Duke Something-or-other, and next to him was his pudgy thirteen-year-old daughter, Prunella, or was it Druscilla . . . ?

"Daddy," she whined, sounding like a teething toddler, "he's not paying attention to me."

The Duke gave a forced laugh and turned his pleading eyes on King Miraz. "She's just not used to sitting close to such excellent examples of royalty. Please forgive her manners." While he was trying to excuse his daughter's behavior, said daughter turned her too-small eyes on Caspian, considering him with a sour frown.

"Why is your skin so dark?"

Caspian winced at the rude inquiry, but covered up his shock with an overly bright smile.

"I like spending time outdoors. There's nothing more wonderful than a walk in the sunshine."

"I thought only farmers and poor people spent time outside."

Underneath the table, Caspian clenched his fists. Even still, he smiled at the insolent little girl, one of the many females his uncle threw at him.

Miraz glanced over at Caspian, sneering at the boy's haggard appearance. "Really, you do look like a commoner. We can afford to stay indoors, you know."

"There's nothing wrong with looking _healthy_, Uncle. I'd rather be as dark as mud than look like a ghost."

Miraz shook his head and sighed wearily. "Caspian, must you always rely on sarcasm and disdain? Can't we eat breakfast with grace and civility? This is the palace, not a hunting lodge."

_If it was a hunting lodge, your head would be on a wall_. Of course, Caspian could not say this aloud. An answer like that could be misconstrued as treason. But that did not mean his anger didn't get the better of him.

"Why, uncle, I couldn't tell! Really, thank you for informing me that this isn't a lodge. I was beginning to wonder where all the bearskin rugs and suggestively dressed women were. Here I was, about to ask if I could have some cheap tobacco and home brewed ale!"

Having had quite enough of his uncle's abuse, Caspian shoved himself away from the table, gave his uncle one final glare, and headed in the direction of the door, intent on leaving his companions to their mindless prattle and thinly veiled marriage discussion.

He was almost home free when his uncle spoke up.

"You will take Prunella for a walk in the garden."

* * *

Founded in 1846, St. George's Academy was a school that prided itself on excellence through education. Family, morality and tradition were cherished values, and its mission was to be the first choice of parents seeking the finest educational environment for their children. That is, if they could afford the tuition.

In order to maintain the rigorous, almost unattainable standards, the students lived in almost complete isolation. The nearest town was twenty miles away, and it was little more than several quaint shops scattered along a single cobblestone street. In fact, the campus was the most impressive example of architecture in the entire county.

Like most boarding schools, there were separate dormitories for boys and girls. There were fourteen houses in all, each the home of sixty to seventy students, who lived under the care of a Housemaster or a Housemistress.

To encourage a sense of community, the students wore uniforms, though they did nothing to deserve such a punishment. Young men and women alike wore a long sleeved oxford shirt, a burgundy sweater vest, and a navy blue blazer with the school's emblem over the right breast pocket. Girls were subjected to prudishly cut blue and red plaid skirts, and boys wore khaki dress slacks with a plaid tie. In one way, the uniforms did inspire a sense of unity, if only because they were unanimously despised.

The Pevensie children had come to St. George's shortly after the death of their parents. The siblings relied on each other during their time of grieving, making the change seem less jarring. But Susan and Peter had graduated within two years of their initial enrollment, leaving Edmund and Lucy behind. Edmund was three years older than his younger sister. At seventeen, he would quickly be going away to college. But Lucy would not be truly alone.

She would be in the company of her cousin. He was called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it. A year younger than Lucy, he was bookish, but his intelligence was a learned trait. He was haughty, smug . . .

And hopelessly in love with Lucy.

He knew it was an unhealthy affection and covered it by being as mean and insulting to Lucy as he possibly could. However, that did not stop him from spending as much time as he could with her. He followed her around, teasing her every action and thought with surprisingly sharp callousness.

That morning, they were both in the library, studying for either pleasure or educational advancement. Eustace desperately tried to pay attention to his schoolbooks, but inevitably, his gaze was drawn to his cousin, who was buried in a pile of books at another table.

His eyes lingered on the curve of her neck, the way her brows furrowed in thought, and the sheen of her dark eyes in the low light. Even the way she wrapped her fingers around her pencil fascinated him.

He attempted to turn his attention back to his studies, but he could not focus - not when she was sitting so close to him. Eustace lifted his head, but by then she was gone.

He was almost thankful she'd left, but he could not help but wonder just what it would be like to have her smile at him.

* * *

Just as Miraz had ordered him, Caspian took a leisurely stroll through the garden with a simpering Prunella clinging to his arm. For a girl who lived her life in a pantry cupboard, she was surprisingly strong. She led him around like a show dog, directing him through the maze of gardens, though she had absolutely no idea where she was going.

They were openly stared at by members of the royal court, and Prunella was on the receiving end of some nasty glares by several ladies-in-waiting.

Why had he ever agreed to take the adolescent girl on a walk, when all she did was fill the air with brainless chatter and stupid observations? She did not seem to like anything.

Except for candy. Somehow, she had gotten her grubby little hands on a box of fine chocolate, and insisted he hold it for her. She extolled the virtues of raspberry cream and marble frosting, and within fifteen minutes, she had eaten the entire box.

"You should get me another box of candy. I want vanilla cream." Her whining sounded like nails on a blackboard, making his head throb in agony. If he was not such a gentleman, he would have thrown her in a pond.

"Why do you want more candy? You just finished an entire box," Caspian said tiredly as she came to a stop beneath a pear tree. Grateful for the reprieve, he leaned against the tree's trunk, massaging his temples as soon as he had his arms back.

"Candy helps me think," she griped with just a hint of a sob.

"Milady, you are wasting your candy."

Impatiently, she tugged on his arm. "Talk to me."

Caspian sighed. "What should we talk about?"

"I don't know, I can't think of anything."

"Perhaps you should try more candy?"

Just when he thought his afternoon could not get any more miserable, who should appear but King Miraz and Prunella's father, Duke Anonymous? They were both smiling as if sharing some sinful secret. Caspian did not like those smiles.

"So, how is my sweet pudding? Have you been enjoying yourself," the Duke asked Prunella, his voice dripping with the slimy sweetness of a man who doted on his daughter far too much. He took a seat on a stone bench. With surprising speed, Prunella planted all five feet three inches, one hundred and sixty pounds of herself in his lap, like some overgrown house cat.

The sight of those two made Caspian's stomach lurch, and he didn't bother covering up the way he blanched in horror. They made ghastly pair, Pudgy Prunella and her father, whose name escaped him.

He rolled his eyes and tried to get away, but Miraz wrapped his bony arm around his shoulder in a show of fatherly affection. But Caspian knew it was just Miraz's way of leashing him to the spot.

"Isn't Prunella a sweet young lady? She would make any man a fine wife." Miraz's arm tightened almost painfully, but somehow, Caspian was able to shake off the older man.

"She is a lovely girl, but I don't think I'm the right man for her. You see, I'm fond of independent thought, and I don't think I'd be able to feed her, nor do I believe there is enough candy in the world to satisfy her monstrous appetite. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go wash the chocolate stains out of my shirt."

While they stood there, taken aback and scandalized, he jogged out of the garden, ignoring the baffled stares of the garden's occupants. He carefully navigated his way around the ladies-in-waiting, not in the mood for their saccharine declarations of love.

He stowed away in the stables, hiding in the hay loft while the guards searched in vain for him. When they were finished poking around the stalls, he saddled up one of the more mundane horses, a bay mare, and not his easily recognized gray charger. Thankfully, he was dressed as little more than a hunter and was able to blend in as he rode away from the palace.

The sun was just beginning to set when he came to the edge of the forest. Going back to the palace was too daunting; especially when his anger towards his uncle was still fresh. How dare he try to use him as a pawn in his game of marriage?

Caspian rode as hard as he could through the woods, not caring where he ended up or who saw him.

"Miraz, you are a rotten bastard," he whispered, glad to be alone in the dark forest.

* * *

Wasn't that delightful, and typo-free?

I referenced 'The Birdcage'!


	3. Chapter Two

Hello everyone! Here is chapter three.

* * *

On the weekends, Eustace, Edmund and Lucy often traveled to London to see Susan, sister and cousin respectively to the three students. Since the school was located eighty miles from the bustling metropolis, they would stay a few nights, and drive back to school Sunday evening.

So, when school ended that Friday afternoon, they piled into a BMW Mini Cooper for the two-hour drive to London. Lucy sat in the back of the car, Eustace in the front seat with Edmund driving. As usual, Eustace was complaining.

"Isn't there a faster way?"

He asked that question every time they made the trip, as if they answer would change if he pestered his cousins enough.

Lucy rolled her eyes and tried to make herself around the several suitcases that were crammed in the back seat with her. Eustace had over-packed, _again_, and Lucy was the one expected to suffer. For the nth time that trip, she shifted her slim legs around Eustace's matching luggage set, her knees accidentally bumping against one of the bags.

Eustace looked over his shoulder with a distasteful sneer. "Don't scratch my suitcases."

Rather than back down, Lucy glared with such ferocity that Eustace visibly winced. "There is nothing to scratch, they're made of _nylon."_

Her younger cousin shrank back, and turned his gaze back to the road. Lucy just knew he was pouting.

"Edmund, you should make your sister behave."

Lucy bristled, her hands clenching into white knuckled fists.

_She._

_Her. _

_Your sister._

_Girl._

Apparently, Eustace had forgotten her name. That, or she was not worthy of being addressed by her name. She was just about to speak up for her when Edmund did it for her.

"Eustace, shut up already."

Of course, Eustace ignored Edmund's command.

"Why do we have to take such a small car? If we had a bigger one, we'd get their faster."

"We really wouldn't, Eustace."

And they wouldn't. The roads to London from St. George's were hardly big enough for a single carriage, let alone a small car. The narrow country lanes were built over the roads the Romans laid centuries, which were not meant for anything besides horses and carts. They were bordered by impenetrable hedges and steep grassy banks. Road markers were sparse, so Edmund's full attention had to be on the roads at all times.

Satisfied that Eustace would leave her alone, Lucy looked out her window, soothed by the beautiful English scenery. It was like something off of a postcard. There were open fields, quaint Tudor cottages, sheep, more sheep, old stone walls, and grass covered hills perfect for sledding.

The rest of the drive was taken in silence, save for the quiet music Edmund had on the radio. Lucy drifted in and out of sleep, and in and out the most incredible dreams. Maybe it was the sound of the pavement beneath the tires, or the way the sun warmed her face, but she had silly, girlish dreams of a brown-eyed boy with sun-darkened skin, and a curious dimple that appeared whenever he smiled at her.

* * *

By the time Lucy had woken up, they were already outside Susan's apartment. She stretched languidly in the back seat, not caring if she knocked over Eustace's suitcases. The countryside carriage lanes were replaced with busy city streets, full of people and cars that always seemed to be in a hurry. Lucy wondered just what would happen if they slowed down for even one minute.

Within moments of their arrival, Susan was bounding down the steps, looking trendy to the point of vanity. She was rail thin in skinny jeans and a too tight shirt. At nineteen, she wore more makeup than a drag queen, and not one lock of her artfully highlighted hair was out of place. To Lucy, she looked like Malibu Barbie.

But still, she was glad to see her older sister, and when Susan dragged her out of the compact car, they threw their arms around each other as if they had been apart months, instead of just a week. Edmund got a more subdued greeting with a kiss on the cheek, and the only thing Eustace would accept was an austere handshake.

Edmund did not bother sticking around for long. London's public houses and rugby matches proved too great a temptation. Eustace, who found pleasure in nothing but bullying, went off on a walk, presumably to destroy sand castles and push children off of swing sets.

This left Lucy and Susan alone, and Lucy was not sure if she liked the arrangement.

"I'm so glad you're here, Lucy," Susan said wistfully as she served the younger Pevensie. They were in her parlor, having tea together. Sadly, it was not high tea, but low-fat tea. Instead of scones and tea cakes, there were fiber bars and cold vegetables.

"Me too." Lucy didn't sound too thrilled, but it might have been the honeyed flax cakes.

After the death of their parents, Susan decided that having a childhood wasn't as fun as being fashionable and conceited. Her life was a destructive, chaotic blend of parties, bars, and shopping malls. Whenever Lucy visited, their days were filled with trips to expensive boutiques and restaurants with impossible to pronounce menus.

This made Lucy wary of the situation. They never stayed home and had tea.

"I'm sorry," Lucy said quietly as she sipped her quickly cooling Chai tea. "Are we going out later? We never have tea at your apartment. I'm not complaining - it's just odd."

Susan gently put down her cup, and took Lucy's hands her own. "Whatever I'm about to tell you, know that I love you very much. You're my world, Lucy, and I couldn't bare it if you hated me."

Lucy could feel something inside of her tighten, but she smiled and nodded, urging Susan on. In a rare show of vulnerability, Susan tightened her trembling hands around Lucy's.

"I'm getting married."

Lucy forgot all sense of tact. "What?!" she questioned breathlessly, her expression twisting in horror. "You're too young to be married!"

Susan smiled, her eyes hardening. "I'm nineteen. Old enough to drink, vote, and live on my own. If I'm old enough to make my own decisions, surely I'm old enough to take a husband."

Lucy couldn't understand. "What do you need a husband for?"

"Maybe because I'm in love?" Susan's tone may have been light and airy, but her eyes narrowed in derision.

"You haven't mentioned a man at all since I've seen you! How long have you been dating him, three hours?"

"We've been seeing together for about a year." Lucy looked betrayed at this.

"Why haven't you told me?"

Susan had the grace to look apologetic, but Lucy knew it was just an act. Her older sister was not sorry. She had left that part of herself behind at their childhood home.

"Who is he?" Lucy asked after a moment.

Susan looked off to the side, her mouth hardening into a thin line. "James Krinard."

"The Internet Cafe guy?!"

"Yes, Lucy, the Internet Cafe guy."

Susan bristled when Lucy snorted. "He's not a bad man, Lucy."

"No, he's just conveniently rich. And isn't he twenty years older than you?"

"Fourteen, Lucy," Susan ground out. "And love knows no boundaries."

Lucy scoffed. "You're not in love!"

"You're a baby, Lucy. What do you know of love?"

At this, Lucy took her hands back and stood defensively, looking down at her sister with an angry frown. "I know that at nineteen, you have no idea what it is."

Susan matched Lucy and stood, towering over her sister in her death-defying high heels.

"Come off it, Lucy. We're not children anymore. There's no school to protect us. And right now I have no one but myself. I know I have you, Edmund and Peter, but you and Edmund are babies, and Peter's overseas playing soldier. Now, you can congratulate me for finding a good man, or we can talk about something else."

Lucy was at a loss. It seemed that no matter what decision she made, in the end, she would lose her sister. Or what she had left of her sister. And so, with a heavy heart, Lucy made her choice.

"I'm happy for you."

* * *

Caspian rode through the woods as fast as hard as he could, and he could feel his steed begin to weaken. Taking a break on the poor beast, he slowed to a trot, and brought them beneath the sheltering leaves of a weeping willow. The ribbon-like branches would protect them from the wind and the vying eyes of by-passers.

As Caspian dismounted, he realized his entire body hurt. The muscles in his thighs protested every move, and the tendons in his arms and back were drawn and tight. Even his eyes were tired and dry from too many miles in the wind.

There was no way he could ride any more without killing the horse, or injuring himself further. But Caspian had spent his childhood in the rugged outdoors, and had no problem sleeping in the grass. He attended to his horse first, taking off her tack while whispering soothing nonsense in her ears. Thanking her, he gently smoothed his hand over her sweaty fur, stroking the tensed muscles in her neck. Then he let her graze in peace, and not caring how much he would hurt in the morning, nestled himself between the tree's roots.

However rest would not find him, though he was worn out and nearly dead. His mind was alive with thoughts and warnings about the direction his life was heading. All of his friends, the small handful he had, were getting married. Not because they were in love, but because their families were in love with connections. A marriage was about heirs and dowries, not about the way the bride and groom felt.

There was a common belief that a marriage would last longer if the couple fell in love after the ceremony. But Caspian believed that love should be there from the start, even though the only examples of love he'd ever even heard of were the illicit affairs of married servants, who held secret trysts in the pantry cupboard. It was why he always made requested that his vegetables be hand washed - _twice._

Just when he thought the tide of sleep was pulling him away from the shores his weariness, he heard something. But it wasn't just a sound, it was also a feeling. At first, it was little more than a breeze whispering in his ears, but then it became more insistent.

It was the sound of someone crying. Not sobbing, or weeping, but he could feel the hot wetness along his cheeks, and the tingling along his skin that accompanied the deepest sort of sorrow. His face was dry though, and the only thing he felt was empathy. Whoever was crying knew what kind of pain he was in.

And then he heard the smallest, almost unnoticeable sob that was the daintiest, most feminine sound he had ever heard.

It was a _woman _who was crying.

* * *

That night, when the world was dark, and she was alone, Lucy went up to the roof of the apartment building, and looked out at the sprawling metropolis that was London.

It was a bright, impersonal world, one that Susan apparently was desperate to be part of.

And it was a world that Lucy would never be part of. She wasn't trendy, she wasn't a realist. The world was still amazing to her, though it was quickly losing its magic.

Before she could stop herself, she was crying. Hot tears burned her cold cheeks, following the line of her jaw like a lover's kiss. But she felt as lonely and distant as ever.

"_Why can't things...  
_

"_... be like they used to?"_

"Lady, give me some peace, and I will answer your questions in due time," Caspian whispered beseechingly to the voice drifting on the wind, before succumbing to the sleep he desperately needed.

"_I will answer your questions in due time."_

She did not know where that answer came from, but it was enough to soothe her for one night.

* * *

Well, there it is, people. Chapter four is on its way!

* * *


	4. Chapter Three

Holy hell, people. I need a beta-reader, and fast. I'll try writing with some regularity, but school is demanding. Being an English major sometimes kills my urge to write.

And kudos to Squashes! I was hoping people would calmly pass over my mistakes, but, alas, I was found out.

Anyways, here we go!

* * *

Caspian awoke refreshed, energized, and so sore he couldn't see straight. There were leaves in his already tangled hair, and a tree root prodding a really tender place. It took him a few moments to even contemplate moving. His scalp itched and felt tight, a sure sign that he needed to wash his hair. Even the sun on his face gave him a blinding headache. That morning, everything was _wrong_.

It wasn't that the night had been particularly unpleasant. It had actually been rather nice. The grass smelled sweet, the wind was soft, and the chirping of crickets made for a soothing lullaby. With so many things going right, he should have slept fine.

But the memory of that woman's crying kept him coiled like a spring. Though he had only heard her for scarcely a moment, she'd haunted his thoughts. It irked him to be so concerned over something his imagination might have conjured up.

"I just want to lie here," he ground out – and he did. Lay there until his body became dust and returned to the earth. Lay there while the tree's roots took hold in the memory of him, thriving on his forgotten youth.

Unfortunately, there was a very testy horse nudging his stomach, nipping impatiently at the fabric pooling around his waist.

"Well, at least someone is happy to see me." The mare gave an agreeable whinny, and promptly bit his belly button

* * *

It had been two days since Susan told Lucy of her engagement, and two days since Lucy decided upon a self-imposed exile. London was not a friendly town, but she found herself wandering idly, peeking through shop windows and meandering through public gardens. She would not return to Susan's flat until the sun had set, when Susan would assuredly be leaving for some party or club.

It was hard being alone, but it gave her time to think, and even some clarity. Susan was getting married, and that was not Lucy's fault. It was not anyone's fault. Susan was pretending to be an adult. If she got burned, that was her fault. Lucy was tired of trying to be the adult. It was time to be like Susan, and just not care.

Sunday afternoon rolled around, and since she did not care (or at least she told herself so), she went back to Susan's apartment, where Edmund and Eustace were waiting for her. And apparently for Susan. They questioned each other on the whereabouts of the eldest female Pevensie, and they answered similarly, though Edmund did it with a little more vigor than the other two.

"I have no fucking idea where that bitch is."

The afternoon became the evening, and the evening quickly became the next morning. The two siblings took turns waiting for Susan, one watching the door while the other napped. True to form, Eustace slept in the upstairs guest room.

At three a.m., Susan finally came back, drunk out of her mind. Lucy and Edmund were understandably angry, but they were too tired to tear her to shreds. Edmund decided upon packing the car up, while Lucy helped Susan get into bed. But not before she held Susan's hair back as she vomited.

It would be forty-five minutes before they could finally leave London. It was so late that they had to put on their uniforms, because there was no way they could do it at school without missing class. This made the ride home tense, awkward, and for Lucy, unbearable. She could not stretch out without revealing her bare legs to her cousin and brother. This meant she barely slept, except when Edmund pulled over for a quick catnap.

Dawn had just crept over the town outside of St. George's when the trio arrived. Edmund would have kept going if Eustace had not needed to pee. Tired, cranky and stiff, they poured out of the car, stumbling down the single cobblestone street, each with different needs. Eustace needed to pee, Edmund needed a pack of cigarettes, and Lucy just needed out of that damned car.

Surprisingly, she had never been to the town, though she had been attending St. George's for three years. She did not even know the name of it. But as she strolled along Main Street, she wondered why she had stayed away so long. It was a nice little village, and not a tourist trap in the least. There was a pastry and tea room, a candy shop with delicious looking fudge in the window, and, of course, a pub. There was even a curry house. But what caught Lucy's eye was a little antique shop, tucked out of the way. It looked it deserved to be condemned, but there was a light peeking through the window, and the sign hanging above the door was well kept.

Lucy liked old things. She liked the idea that every antique had a story and a family who had once loved it.

Her mother had liked antiques.

The temptation was too great. She was going in.

* * *

Caspian had not the heart or the mind to return to the castle. There was just too much weighing down at his shoulders, clawing at the back of his neck. His every moved was monitored there; what he wore, how he walked, who he talked to. But there in the forest, only the grass cared about his footsteps, only the trees had eyes for him.

The horse made for great company. She did not mind as he confessed his secrets to her.

"I have to admit, most of the women in my court look like lizards in gowns. The cosmetics don't help. Trindylle is the worst. I swear, she looks like a pit viper in a wig. "

The mare nickered softly, almost in derision. It sounded strangely like a snort to him.

"It's not that I stare at her! It's just that there's nothing else to do in court. I like people's absurdities. It makes me feel normal."

He could feel the mare stumble, and it had him bristling.

"I _am_ normal. I don't care what you think."

Caspian gasped and pulled back on the reigns, the color draining from his face.

"Oh dear, I'm talking to a horse. Maybe I'm _not_ normal."

An awkward silence settled over the pair as Caspian led the horse slowly through the thicket, ducking whenever they encountered a low branch. He breathed in the warm, fragrant air, utterly at home in the wild.

Caspian liked all things green and growing. He liked their simplicity, the fact that their only purpose in existence was to soak up the sun, drink of the rain and take hold of the ground. Their life was bright and short, and could bring great beauty to the world. Next to the most beautiful flower, Caspian was a gangly and ugly creature, matte and colorless.

He was handsome, to be sure. He was told that all the time. '_Milord, your cheekbones are heavenly._' '_Oh my prince, your arms are perfect for embracing._' And those had been the male servants!

But Caspian did not listen. He did not even see the same thing. He saw the man Miraz saw, and he had to agree. He was dark – he made sure of that. He would ride his horse in little more than a pair of britches to keep his skin, to quote Prunella, dark as mud. Caspian did this because Miraz was a lily-white pansy, with weak skin and sunken eyes. If making Miraz angry meant looking like a peasant, so be it.

That was not the end of his rebellion. His hair was usually tangled and unwashed, the brown hanks falling messily around his jaw. Messy was a good word to describe him. His attire was similar to that of a roguish bandit. He wore hunting leathers and simple cotton garments, and the same pair of boots every day.

Caspian had no other way to rebel. His clothing was his only option. However, both he and his wardrobe smelled pretty stale. As much he liked rebelling, he also liked bathing.

"Come on, girl, let's find a creek. I need a bath."

The mare snorted and whinnied loudly, shaking her head in agreement.

"Oh, _shut up._"

* * *

As Lucy closed the door behind her, she felt every nerve in her body become alive with sensation. It was almost painful, being so aware of herself and her surroundings. She felt everything, from the itchy cotton around her belly, to the hair across the back of her shoulder. She was even aware of the dust in the air as it glimmered in the light streaming from the window.

The breath was stolen from her chest as she looked around. It was a haven for aging relics of times gone by. There was moth-eaten lace and lacquered writing desks, painted vases and mahogany wardrobes.

Everything about the shop was old. Even the air smelled like it had been there forever – musty and stale and cold with early morning.

Lucy was entranced.

It reminded her of home.

The light of dawn did not follow her as she moved deeper into the shop. Every beam of light was swallowed by the press of old furniture around her. The utter silence had her breathing shakily. To keep her bearings, she trailed her fingers along any surface near her, but it was getting so dark that she could not tell what exactly she was touching. Under her trembling fingers there was smooth wood, cold glass and sometimes marble, but she did not know if it was a table or chair or lamp.

As she got deeper and deeper into the store, she started to reconsider her initial joy at the store. There air was too still, the walls too close, and the silence too deafening. She was frightened. It seemed the store went on and on forever. But just when she thought about turning back, Lucy stumbled into a little alcove, lit by a single kerosene lamp. The dancing flame cast eerie shadows on the walls around her, but the cheery light revealed great treasure.

Books, shelves of books.

It was only a small book case that barely came up to her waist, but she was overjoyed to see some sign of humanity. Dropping to her knees, Lucy hunched forwards, reading each title. Some she knew, but most were unknown to her. They either had foreign titles, or no titles at all. Most were bound with leather, while some of the older ones were bound with crinkled parchment.

One in particular caught her eye. It had handsome, red leather binding that was well oiled and glistened in the dim light. There was no title, just a majestic lion etched on the cover with what must have been genuine gold leafing. But the pages had no words on them. Though they were yellowed with age, they were as soft as silk.

Confused, Lucy flipped through each pen, looking for something. A stray ink mark, torn corners, _anything._ But it had never been touched by human hands. This made Lucy tremble with something sharp and sweet. It was _her_ discovery. She was the first to handle this book. And so, she treated it with love and respect, gently caressing the cover and spine. As if it were a Persian perfume, she buried her nose in the pages, breathing in the scent of paper and age. It was heady and intoxicating. To say the least, Lucy loved books. The library at her school was a safe harbor.

As she flipped through the pages, something else filtered into the book's scent - flowers and grass, and even rain. She could taste the tang of metal in her mouth, and hear the clattering of armor. Puzzled but amused, she held the book out in front of her, smiling at the golden lion.

"Well now, what have you got to say that is so important?" She laughed, thinking her imagination was playing tricks on her.

But then the lion _moved_. He kicked his large paws, rearing up on his muscled hind legs. His tail swished impatiently as he let out a yawn from somewhere deep in his chest.

And then he looked at Lucy with his great and terrible golden eyes. Paralyzed as he looked into her very soul, she gasped as he leapt off of the book, and drew her towards him with a single swipe of his paw. His able claws dug into her shoulders, and dragged her forward. Before her vision failed, she saw her world spin and crumble as she fell into nothingness.

Unbeknownst to her, the lion gave a satisfied smile as she disappeared into the blackness.

In the shop, the book clattered to the ground. The handsome red leather binding was smooth and glossy, and there was no regal, golden lion on the cover; just the lingering warmth of the hands that had just held it.

* * *

Well now. I wrote another chapter! YAY ME!

Please review? PLEASE?!


	5. Chapter Four

Yes! I am BACK! Eleven reviews people. Eleven! My rule of thumb is if I receive ten reviews, I begin working on the next chapter. Of course, I generally don't follow it, as I love writing this story, but each review feeds my ego. Great, isn't it?!

On a more somber note, I just saw Prince Caspian. Of course, he was gorgeous, but he fucking kissed Susan. WHAT THE FUCK WAS UP WITH THAT?!

Thank God she can no longer return to Narnia.

I have to warn you. Lucy has just turned fourteen in this story, and Caspian is nineteen, almost twenty. There is going to be some suggestive content, and this chapter will be the start of it. I'm obviously talking nudity, intimacy, and some darker aspects of love and lust. Hell, I've already alluded to incest. Most of this will be about Lucy and Caspian, of course, so don't expect flowers and sonnets. Expect jealousy, regret, and maybe even force. I might bump the rating up if it gets too risqué.

Onward ho!

That means you, Susan.

Fuckers. I hate _all of you_.

* * *

Falling through utter nothingness, Lucy had never felt so peaceful. It was almost like drifting gently through a fresh spring. Swathed in cool sensation, she let the tension ease from her body. Gravity was a distant memory, as was light and time. It was pitch black, but the dark did not frighten her. Even the smarting claw marks on her shoulder seemed to be pleasurable.

And then everything snapped in a blinding flash of sunlight and hurt.

Crying out as her body broke, Lucy lay gasping on what she presumed was the ground. There was not a bone in her body that did not ache, no patch of skin that did not feel tender. She could feel the scratches on her shoulders bleeding, and she knew she would be bruised in several places.

For several seemingly endless moments, all she could do was lay still. Even breathing was a daunting task. And then she started crying as she truly became aware of her pain. It was too much – too much sensation, too much soreness, too much sting. When she became more used to the sensation (which did not make it hurt less), she felt brave enough to move.

With more strength than she was willing to use, she pressed her raw and bleeding hands to the ground under her, shakily pushing herself up. The pain made her tremble, and she could feel bile rising up her throat. As her many cuts and bruises stretched and tore further, small sobs started escaping her throat. Though her eyelids felt like leaded, she slowly opened her eyes, getting a good look at her hands. Her palms were scratched and stained green from the moss beneath them. The tips of her fingers were bloody from her broken nails. Thankfully there was only superficial damage – no broken bones, no deep gashes, no flesh ripped from the bone.

Emboldened by this seemingly 'good sign', she leaned back against a rock, examining her knees and calves. They too were scratched and wounded, will several steadily bleeding cuts, turning her white socks red. She had bruises on her left leg that disappeared under her bloodstained skirt. Lucy had never been so thankful to have so many trivial injuries. Turning teary eyes up to the tree tops above her, she said a small prayer of gratitude, smiling at the cheery green leaves.

Wait.

Cheery green leaves?

Something awful and heavy squeezed her heart. This was not right. All of a sudden she was deeply afraid. Carefully, she turned her head, taking in her lush, colorful surroundings.

She was in a forest, green and heady. The air was heavy with the scent of dying foliage and the sound of rushing water bounced off each tree.

"Where am I?" she whispered in disbelief as she took in every horrifying detail. She was not in the shop. She was not even sure where she was. All Lucy knew that she was in a forest, sitting on a moss covered rock. The rushing water had her confused, but not for long.

It was only a second before she looked down at the ground beneath her. Or what little ground there was. She was sitting on the edge of a bluff. Some twenty feet below her was a river with white-tipped rapids.

Clutching her gym bag tightly to her, she hesitantly stood up, intent on moving deeper into the woods, and hopefully towards a road.

And then, with a sickening crunch, the ground beneath her feet gave way in a crumbling of clay and gravel.

Once again, she felt like she was surrounded by water. Only this time, she was pretty sure she was going to drown.

* * *

Dismounting from his steed (who he knew was _laughing_ at him), Caspian removed her saddle and bridle, laying them at the base of the river. He could feel her judgmental stare on the back of his neck. When she lowered her head to drink of the water, he felt he could begin disrobing. Even though she was just a horse, he still felt awkward changing with her eyes on him.

He took his time in getting undressed – the night's chill had not been entirely chased away, and the air was damp with fog. Piece by piece, he laid his attire carefully on the rock – first his woven coat, then his tunic. He shivered as his skin met the cool breeze, goose bumps rising over his tanned, olive skin. His boots were next, followed quickly by his riding leathers, until he was in his cropped breeches. He took off his belt, letting the knee-length, linen slacks ride low on his slender hips.

Caspian was by no means a small man. He was tall, lean and broad-shouldered, with corded muscles he earned from hours of sword play, and the games he still played though he was nearing twenty years. By all accounts he was attractive and striking for Telmarine royalty. His looks were softer than the other nobles, but by no means feminine – just different, gentler.

Once he felt adjusted to the frosty water nipping at his ankles, he waded in the river to his, quivering as the cold seeped into his bones. Still, it soothed his thighs and calves, cramped from riding.

Just was he was about to submerge, something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. But as he turned to look, there was nothing. He kept his eyes on the fast-moving water, convinced he had seen something. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Caspian hoped that he had been wrong, that there was nothing.

And then he saw it – a head of dark hair that he knew belonged to a body. There was no other option than to go and save whomever it belonged.

And if he could get there in time, then he would retrieve the body.

Diving head first into the current, he swam towards the person with strong strokes, trying to get their as fast as he could. But damn, that water was cold.

* * *

Lucy was going to die. She knew it. The water was too frigid, the current too quick, and her lungs could not find air. Now, Lucy was a very good swimmer. She taught lessons at her school to the younger students, and even won a few medals at sporting events. Though never truly an athlete, she was hardy and fast for a girl. But her limbs were weighted and dead in the water, weakened by injury and exhaustion. The most she could was cling to her bag and hope for the best. But as she swallowed more water, she let herself give into her exhaustion.

But as her vision blackened, a strong set of arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her limp body out of the water, and onto the shore.

* * *

Caspian hauled the lifeless, small body against the current, breathing heavily as he was nearly dragged under the tide. But he forged on, bringing the body, and the bag it was attached to onto the shoreline. As he laid the body out on the shore, he gasped with equal parts delight and dismay at his rescued quarry.

It was a woman.

She was unlike any woman he had seen before, that was certain. Her skin was pale and not sallow like the women of the court, but pink and petal-soft. She had dark hair, but it was much lighter than that of a Telmarine. The soft umber locks clung wetly to her cheeks, which were soft and smooth under his hands.

Unable to resist the temptation, he ran his fingertips over her clean, groomed eyebrows. He was not surprised that his hands were trembling, not when he was afraid his calluses would catch her skin. She was _fascinating._ She had high cheekbones, a good jaw and a slightly stubborn chin.

Sitting back on his haunches, he let his gaze rove over her limp, albeit supple body. She was petite and very thin, but lengthy in her own right. She could not have been older than sixteen, if her gentle curves were any indication.

Caspian's gaze rested heavily on her chest, but not for the obvious reason. It was still.

She was not breathing.

Blushing as he realized he had been too busy staring at her to notice she might die, he brought his face close to her. His throat tightened as he pressed his lips to hers, forcing air into her lungs. He pressed his hands sharply to the spot over her heart, all the while hoping that she had the will to live.

And then his heart beat with joy as she twitched and gasped in his hands, her skin warming against his palms. He knew he was smiling as he turned her feather-light body to the side, letting the girl cough up mouthfuls of water.

Satisfied that she had emptied her lungs, Caspian cradled her in his arms, his hand cradling the side of her face. Those full, arched brows furrowed in pain or confusion, he could not tell. But he found he did not care as her lashes slowly parted, her surprisingly dark eyes peering up at him, clearly confused.

He had but a second to smile at her before his water nymph punched him right in the face.

* * *

She was cold, so cold. Her skin prickled like it was turning to ice. The blood in her veins was slowing down, freezing as it settled. She could not hear her own heartbeat. But, strangely enough, she was comfortable. Sure, her wounds were stinging and sang with pain, but something rough was stroking her cheeks. There was something firm under her head.

The shock of air forcefully entering her lungs had black spots dancing across her vision. She felt nauseous as something pressed on her chest hard enough to break her ribs. To keep from getting sick, she… got sick, vomiting up sickly-sweet water that burned her throat and tongue. But she was breathing, and that was enough for her.

Someone turned her over, and she knew it was not her. She did not have the strength to even lift a finger. The warmth of the body holding her had her brows knitting in confusion. There was no person in the shop with her, or anywhere near the part of the forest she had been in.

This awareness had her opening her eyes, though even doing that was painfully tiring. What she saw shocked, and frightened her.

Above her was a pair of black eyes set in a handsome, tanned face. That would have been okay, nice even, had he been wearing clothes. Lucy's mind teased her with wicked images and fairytales of virgins being kidnapped by brigands.

It gave her enough strength for a mean left hook.

"Get your hands off of me!"

* * *

Caspian was knocked off his feet, landing back on the sand with a soft 'whoomph'. The hit did not hurt so much (it did), but the fact that he had just been hit by a girl. Worse than that, he was flat on his back because of that slip of a girl.

"Get your hands off of me!"

Well, _that_ certainly was a different accent.

"Uh… I believe they are already off of you, milady."

"Don't be a smart ass, you pervert."

Pervert?

_Pervert?!_

"What did you just call me?!" Caspian sprang to his feet, staring down at the slip of a girl who had just insulted him. Awake and furious, she was even more spectacular. She was coltish. Yes, that was the word. She was like some wild, high-strung filly that needed breaking.

"I called you a pervert, that's what. What the hell were you doing?!"

And like a disobedient horse, she was testing his patience. The muscles in his shoulders tightened as he drew up tall.

"Saving your life, something I might reconsider doing in the future."

She scoffed, narrowing the pretty, dark eyes at him. It made him want to smile, but he refrained.

"Good, because I won't be needing you again anytime soon."

"If your swimming skills are anything to go by, I highly doubt that."

He could not entirely smother the chuckle that escaped from his throat as those lovely eyes of hers widened, her jaw falling. She had even, white teeth.

Caspian used her stunned silence to take a few steps towards his new found friend, whom he was sure was not entirely human. However, his not-so-human friend took the opportunity, and punched him again, square in the jaw. Again, he was knocked to the ground. Again, her coltish qualities came out. She was _fast._

But on horseback, he would be _faster._

* * *

_Spain. I'm in Spain. How did I end up in Spain?_

Lucy's thought flew faster than her feet as she raced along the river. The boy, man, had a Spanish accent. Absently, she realized that her track and field coach did a pretty good job conditioning her. Her swimming coach might disagree. What would her dance teacher say?

_Damn it, Lucy, stop thinking and run your ass off!_

And she did just that. She did not know how long she had been running, what distance she had covered, even her injuries seemed to blur into a lump of soreness. Thankfully, she had adrenaline to spare, otherwise her racing heart and heaving lungs would have killed her.

Just when she thought she could slow down, take a break on her shattered body, she heard the worst sound she had ever heard.

There was a horse behind her, and she had a feeling she knew who was on it.

* * *

Woohoo! Another chapter! It was kind of rushed, I know, but I wanted them to meet.

Anyways, as far as Lucy's look goes, if I had control, she would look like Polina Semionova. She's this really pretty ballerina, very youthful. She has an awkward sort of beauty, but she always looks either bewildered and joyous, which is how I picture Lucy. That's why Lucy has a dance teacher - it's my homage to her. And, I know, I'm using the movie interpretation of the Telmarines. But it works excellently for what I need!

You see, Lucy is only beautiful to Telmarine men because she doesn't look like a Telmarine woman.

As much as I hated that butchered final scene in 'Prince Caspian', I loved that whole Spanish vibe the Telmarines had, so I'm using it.

Remember, Polina Semionova. Youtube her before you Google her.

Anyways, people, review.

REVIEW.

The more reviews, the faster I type.


	6. Chapter Five

Okay, this next part is, um… very suggestive. Uh…

On with the show!

* * *

He did not know why he chased after her. What was so important about her that she had him scrambling to put his tunic on, afraid that if he wasted any more time dressing, she would get away? She was just a little girl. Different, yes. Lovely, no doubt. But he could have women, any that he wanted. Why did she have him hissing as he mounted his horse without bothering with the saddle? How did she manage to work her way under his skin?

Caspian had many half-formed ideas swimming in his mind. She could fall back into the river. After all, she had nearly drowned, and could have been suffering from hypothermia. There was the issue of her clothes. They were wet and could not be good for her perfect skin.

But he knew there was a much simpler reason that drove him to catch her.

He wanted her.

He wanted her name, he wanted her to be safe, wanted her to yell at him in her petite, spit-fire glory. To feel such want was new and marvelous and exhilarating. He did not even know what he wanted her for! Would she be his wondrous peacock, a beautiful and fascinating creature? No – he would not cage her. She was too wild for that.

Maybe he wanted to break that wild streak until she was eating out of his palm, just so he could run his fingers through her hair. He _did_ think her coltish. Maybe he wanted just wanted to ride her, to soothe her untamed sensibilities with strong hands and tender words.

It would not be unheard of. Telmarine men could take wives as young as ten (though they could not do anything with them). Such was the currency of every family, from the impoverished to the privileged. Having young lovers was nothing new to Telmarine nobility. Even Miraz had young concubines, though he favored more seasoned women.

But if that was the reason, then what was it that made her so special?

Caspian could see her dark hair, matted and soaked, trailing behind her as she sprinted along the water's edge with the grace of young doe. Her pale legs reflected the sun's light like the sheen of a pearl. Well, what of her legs that was not hidden by her stockings and funny shoes. Her attire was one reason he chased after her, that was certain. A strong breeze could lift that odd skirt she wore and reveal thighs he knew would be as milky and sweet as peaches with cream. Caspian did not want her out her clothes, he wanted her in _his_. He wanted her blossom pink skin hidden from the world by **his** tunic.

The possessive thoughts did not bother him in the least. She would be safer in his clothes than in her own. If Miraz got to her first…

Though he dared not finish that thought, it had him digging his heels into the mare's side, spurring her forward.

He was _so_ close now. He could hear her breath on the wind, her heels digging into the sand.

"Prince Caspian! Milord!"

Caspian pulled back in shock on the bridle. Since there was no bridle, however, he ended up flat on his back in the sand for the _third_ time that day.

His chase was over. His desire had escaped him. And he had sand in his pants.

The ground beneath him shook with the footfalls of war horses and the air buzzed with the clanging of armor.

"Milord, you are, uh… scantily clad."

He knew who that voice belonged to.

"Lord Glozelle?" Caspian stared up in wonder. His uncle sent a general to come looking for him? Was that really necessary?

"Your uncle thought so."

Caspian blushed.

"I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"Yes. Yes, you did."

"Great."

* * *

She could hear his breath on the wind; feel his stare on the back of her neck. Lucy did not like being hunted. But the moment he got close enough to snatch her up, he stopped. She would not look a gift horse in the mouth. She would, however, stop running and give her screaming muscles the reprieve they cried out for.

As quiet as a tempest, she dove behind some rocks, hauling herself to the top of one to see if he was following her. From her hopefully hidden position, she could better see her pursuer.

Or, rather, pursuers.

"What the hell…?"

There were seven other men, all on horseback. They were, for some reason, dressed like they were going to Scarborough Fair. Lucy was not an expert on period costumes, but she could tell they were very well-crafted and very accurate. She could not see a button or a zipper anywhere. The armor the men wore was either very convincing vinyl, or genuine leather. The cloth used for the costumes was unbelievable. There was no way they could pick up material like that at the local fabric store. Whoever these men were, they had money to burn.

Like the boy, man, who had chased after her, they all had dark hair and sallow skin. The oldest, who must have been in his forties, helped the younger man up from the ground. They exchanged words quietly, though she could not hear what was being said. But they both had that odd, lilting Spanish accent. It did not make any sense, none of it made any sense.

The group did not linger. Within moments, they were all saddled up again and heading back in the direction Lucy had run from.

She let out a breath she did not know she had been holding. He was not going to pursue her. She could dry off, get changed and find the nearest highway.

Lucy gasped as awful realization set in.

"Oh no."

* * *

If there was any man who could talk Caspian down from one of his moods, it was Glozelle. He was one of the only constants in the young man's life, besides his tutor, Dr. Cornelius. But even the wise professor could not bring Caspian back to the living. The boy was too far into his own thoughts.

Glozelle was not the kind of man to pry, especially with his king's nephew. However, the boy was his as close to a son as he wanted. And his 'son' looked a bit lost.

"I know you don't want to return."

Caspian said nothing, staring at the back of his horse's head with a thoughtful frown.

"But your uncle will not be there tonight. He is, uh… _busy._ The widow, Countess Prunipismia, is here with her departed husband's entourage."

His comment was met with silence. Glozelle was surprised by this. Caspian always had a comment about the king's favorite… member of the court.

"What the hell is-."

"Do you believe in nymphs?"

Did he believe in _what_?

"Milord?"

Caspian stared at him with clear, inquisitive eyes.

"Nymphs, Glozelle."

He could not help but laugh. "They are fairy tales, milord. Bedtime stories told to drowsy toddlers."

"Then tell me a story." Caspian sounded all at once forceful and wistful. Glozelle peered at his prince from the corner of his eye. The boy's gaze was fixed on something ahead of him.

"Well… Nymphs are always female. Some think they are playful spirits who are caretakers of the land, others, fairies tied to a particular place and landform. That's why there are water nymphs and oak tree nymphs."

He could feel Caspian wilt beside him.

"But they are beautiful, yes?"

Glozelle guffawed. Sometimes, the prince was still a silly little boy chasing dreams across the moon.

"Yes, very. They are the constant targets of satyrs, the poor girls."

"And what about mortal men?"

He turned, surprised, to Caspian. Why was the boy asking such questions? Caspian was peculiar sometimes, but this was strange, even for him.

"In… In some stories, nymphs marry older men who lead countries. Usually, these men's names give rise to the name of their nation. No such nations exist though. And neither do nymphs."

His charge let out a princely sigh, and remained quiet for the short trek back to his forgotten armor. Glozelle meant to ask him what he had been chasing, but he got the feeling that Caspian did not have that answer.

* * *

_And neither do nymphs._

It made sense, really. Magical creatures were the stuff of lullabies. But if that were true, then she was human. And if she were human, she was easily attainable. Catching a nymph was not possible for a mere mortal. But capturing a girl, well, Caspian could handle that. Hunting was something he was rather adept at. The killing he did not enjoy. Most of the prey he cornered he let loose, unless he was hungry. But thrill of the chase was a vice. He could not wait for his next 'fix'.

And what greater challenge was there in finding the only person to knock him off his feet?

His heart was considerably light as he leapt off of his horse (who, as it turned out, was called Doris). Doris unconvincingly nibbled on his fingers as he stroked her nose. The poor mare had been put through her paces time and time again, and Caspian was thankful for that. He was going to lead her to the river to drink, but she kept licking his knuckles and stomping her front hooves.

Caspian knew horses could not talk, but he felt that she was trying to say something.

Doris let out on an exasperated snort, and butted her head against his hip. Caspian frown at the small shock of pain, but what Doris pointed out was well worth a hundred broken bones.

There, hidden partially by some rocks, was his little nymph's satchel.

"_Yes!_"

* * *

He had her bag. He had her bag! He had her clothes, her make-up, her underwear. He had her only source of comfort!

_No, no, no!_

There was no way she could go after them. Though they could possibly get her to the nearest train station, they seemed to be a roguish bunch, and very unfriendly to women. They probably smelled bad, too.

Nothing was going right for Lucy. She was injured, and as good as naked without her gym bag. She had not slept in almost twenty-four hours, and her wet clothes were absolutely freezing. Her hair, which was never a big concern, was knotted and matted with sand, leaves, and twigs.

Again, she felt like crying. She was alone, frightened and confused. More than that, she was exhausted. Sleep kept tugging at her senses, urging her to lie down. She would have to give in and rest, but there were things she needed to do first.

Her clothes needed to be hung out to dry. And she needed to tend to her wounds, light as they were.

Cleaning her clothes was easy. She was right by a river. Problem solved!

Now, Lucy was modest, but by no means timid or shy. She was facing a problem, and solving it meant doing something she would not normally do.

Normally, she would not skip down to her skivvies in the middle of the day, much less in the middle of a forest. There was still the issue of the men heading in the opposite direction, but they did not seem too interested in coming to find her.

And so, without much reserve, she took off her shoes and socks, and delicately shed her uniform jacket. Sure enough, the back of the blazer was neatly shredded, the shoulders sliced into thin strips from waist to collarbone. Whether or not they were from the lion was uncertain.

Her sweater vest was in similar condition. Small twigs were caught in the knit fibers. It looked rabid all around.

The one piece of clothing she was really afraid to look at was her oxford blouse. Her fingers trembled as she dealt with each button. It hurt more than she thought it would when she finally peeled off the clinging, soaked cotton. Every time the fabric moved against her scratched shoulders, she hissed in pain.

As she suspected, the shirt was in poor form. It was stained red from blood and green from moss. The cuffs were speckled yellow from some clay lining the river bed. The collar was fraying, and the seam on the left arm was splitting.

Without a talented seamstress and gallons of bleach, the shirt was a lost cause. But without it, she would have even less to keep her warm.

Mechanically, she stepped out of her skirt and pulled her under shirt, until she was in her pink, cotton plunge bra and matching underwear. As soon as her skin was bare, it started to warm up under the sun's heat. It lifted her mood enough that she was able to rinse out her uniform. After wringing each piece out, she wandered a few feet down the river, where low tree branches hung over a smooth patch of sand. She would use them for clothes lines.

Once each article of clothing was hung out to dry, Lucy sat in the sand and cleaned her cuts. Her socks she used for gauze, cautiously pressing the soft hosiery to her scraped knees and palms. It stung, but it got a majority of the dirt. But there was only so much she could, tired as she was. She did not even attempt to clean the claw marks on her shoulders. She would deal with them later.

Lying down on her side in the sand, she pillowed her head with her arm. It would not be comfortable sleep nap, but it would hopefully give her enough energy to get out of there.

Within moments she was practically comatose. She was carried away on a tide of crickets chirping and birds singing.

Or what her brain told her were crickets and birds.

Nymphs may have been myths, but pixies were not. And Lucy was a perfect target for one particular pixie.

He was rather toad-like in appearance, and could not been any bigger than Lucy's fist. His skin was smooth and grey with a slight green tint, save for the patch of red on the top of his head. With large, solidly black eyes and a wide, grinning mouth, he gave off an aura of friendliness. His arms were so long that his knuckles bumped against his ankles. Then again, he only had short, stumpy legs supporting his plump body.

Indeed, he was friendly, but he liked puzzles more than being friendly. Knotty problems were a particular favorite of his, and Lucy's tangled brown locks seemed like a sumptuous treat.

He let out a squeak of delight and waddled over to her face. The frown pulling her mouth down had him cooing in sympathy. He liked it when people smiled, but her hair was simply too tempting. Pixies only have enough room in their minds to focus on one task at a time, so he had no choice but to stick to his original plan.

It was like sorting through a knitting basket for him. He plucked and pulled at each strand of hair, never pulling one strand too hard. Occasionally he had to run into the forest for blackberry oil to lubricate exceptionally nasty snarls. But for the better part of three hours, he sat on the crown of her head, dealing diligently with each hairy conundrum with single-minded determination.

He was not alone for long though. Other pixies and fairies joined in, though it annoyed him to no end. A hedgerow pixie, green and earthy, fastidiously rubbed Lucy's scrapes away with plant sap and flower nectar. Under his vine-like fingers, Lucy's raw skin was healed smooth, until it was as if she had never been injured. A luminous dream weaver, with the help of a chipmunk and some fairy glamour, mended Lucy's clothing, returning the fabric to its former glory.

The fairies and pixies of Narnia were neither good nor bad. They just _were_. They were elemental creatures, made of pure emotion and pure purpose. And they strongly disliked humans, Telmarines in particular. So, they were not helping Lucy, but rather competing against each other to see who could make her more comfortable.

Eventually, they ran out of creative outlets. Lucy's clothes were as good as new, her scrapes and cuts were as if they had never been there, and her hair was more beautiful than it had ever been, or ever would be. Within moments, each pixie and fairy had faded back into nature, leaving no trace of themselves, besides the perfection left in their wake. Except for the lion's claw marks on her bare shoulders. Those were not theirs to heal.

Little did she know, Lucy had a woken up a forest that had been resting for a millennium.

* * *

Night descended over Narnia, cloaking in inky darkness. The stars were like diamonds scattered over an indigo mantle, and the moon hung low and rounded over the tree tops. Around a cheery campfire sat Glozelle and his men, enjoying roasted fresh quail, seasoned with herbs from the forest.

Caspian was not among them.

Under the cover of night, he padded through the forest to the river, using the moonlight reflected over the water's mirror surface as a guide. Not a twig snapped under his boot, no nightly animal did he startle. He was as quiet as a panther with velvet paws. He had to be. His skittish prey had a tendency to fight or flee. He had a jaw ache to prove that.

Barely fifty feet downstream, Lucy was waking up from the most wonderful rest she had ever experienced. She stretched in the sand like a sated, well-fed house cat. Languidly, she pulled herself up, arching her back like a drawn bow. Blinking sleepy eyes, she took in her surroundings with some trepidation. She could not hear anything out of the ordinary, just the hooting of owls and the chirping of cicadas. The air was clean, the wind was gentle, and the river slowed down considerably, until it was a little more than a meandering stream. Its surface shined like silver in the starlight.

Everything was perfect.

That perfection threw her off significantly. Her clothes, while still hanging from the trees like Spanish moss, had never seemed more faultless. They were not even that pristine the day she bought them. And that was only the half of it.

Lucy was in no pain. The biting ache of her torn skin was missing. Her nails, though shorter, were smooth and rounded. The girl staring back at her from the river's surface was pink and pale, with shining brown locks falling softly around her shoulders. Lucy could never get her hair to do that.

Maybe it was the strange flawlessness of the night, or the tingle of energy sparking along her skin, that urged Lucy to explore. Like many adventurers before her, she wandered out into the mysterious night, only pausing to tug her white button shirt on. She did not even bother with the buttons.

How odd it was, that river. During the day it was frenetic and churning, ready to swallow any hapless victim. But at night, it was mystical and inviting, a cool reprieve for weary travelers. The waves lapped at her ankles, washing over her toes like a minty balm.

Fireflies winked at her through the reeds lining the creek's edge, encouraging her along. She could not refuse.

Caspian lay in wait at the edge of the forest, hidden among the trees as he lay in wait for his coltish nymph. His determination was almost frightening in its intensity, but he had worried over much lesser causes, and he wanted so little. He deserved this. Deserved her.

Like a truly experienced hunter, he had laid bait for his quarry to find. Her strange bag, with its straps and pulls, was placed conspicuously in the sand. It was close enough that he could that he could snatch it up if need be, but not so close that she would see him.

Then it was just a matter of waiting, and he did not have to wait long. Like some porcelain sylph, she appeared from the reeds, up to her ankles in the water.

If he had been scantily clad earlier, then she was positively nude. Her legs were bare and caressed by the moon. As he thought, her skin was absolutely pearlescent. The gap between the lapels of her shirt afforded him a clear view of the skin from the hollow of her through, to the apex of her thighs. Her most intimate patches of skin were hidden by bands of blush fabric, but he would take what he could get.

And then she saw her bag.

As she gasped, Caspian allowed himself a wicked, victorious smile.

Lucy could not believe her luck. There was her bag, just where she left it. The magic of the evening must have clouded her senses, as she did not think twice about running to it. Her slight giggle of joy bounced off the river rocks, but she noticed not. Without thinking of the consequences, she shrugged out of her shirt, fully prepared to change into something more comfortable.

Caspian chose to strike right then. He was surprised he had the presence of mind to even move, now that he could see her tidy waist and shapely shoulders. Sure, he had seen naked women before. He had even had a hand in getting them naked. But it was odd to see her so nonchalant about it, like showing that much skin was nothing extraordinary. She did not preen or primp – she just knelt there.

He considered just running up to her to pin her down, but then he remembered his earlier assessment. She was jumpy and could thrash out at him if he took one misstep. It would not hurt him, but it would give her the opportunity to run.

And so, he took careful, measured steps toward the young woman kneeling in the sand. His breath caught in his throat at the sheen of dark hair falling over one shoulder, revealing a neck whiter than a swan's.

Her head snapped up at the small intake of breath. He stopped in his tracks, staring down at her. She stared right back, those dark, wide eyes alert and sharp.

"I was beginning to think that you weren't real." Each step towards her was calculated, and, he hoped, unintimidating. She just stayed still and poised, her eyes fixed on his.

A few feet from he stopped, and knelt down until he was eye level with her. She did not move, or even blink. They were unnerving, those nightshade eyes of hers. Caspian wondered in that moment if she really _was_ a nymph. Who but a nymph could stop a prince in his tracks, could be light and dark at the same time?

What a sight they must have made! A prince dressed no better than a peasant and an ethereal young woman barely dressed at all, both kneeling in the sand. All that was between them was the night and that silly bag of hers.

A streak of boldness shot through his belly to his heart, giving him the courage to stretch out his hand to stroke her cheek. With a sort of detached fascination, he watched as her hand curled into a fist. _Oh great, I'm going to get hit again_, he thought as her thin arm pulled back. Her pretty, insolent face twisted in a snarl. _Yes, definitely going to get hit._

But then something swept past his ear as fast as a shooting star. In one instant his nymph's eyes widened in confusion, and, to his heart's ache, pain. Something was very wrong. Her accusatory stare pinned him to the spot, until her eyes finally flitted to her shoulder. And then he knew what had passed by his face.

There, just beneath the feminine curve of her dainty collarbone, was an arrow shot deep into her skin. And from it, a thin trickle of blood followed the slope of her breast, staining the pink fabric binding her chest.

Lucy gasped for breath as the pain swept from the arrow all the way to her breasts. Suddenly, everything was much too real.

Or at least the danger was.

* * *

Well, what do you think?

REVIEW!

As for the pixie, Google 'a positive pixie', and look under images. He is a creation of Brian Froud's, but I think he is so adorable.

Also, I have made several pop culture references in this story.

Two such references are from "The Bircage", and "Nutcracker: The Motion Picture".

Can we you figure out what they are?


	7. Chapter Six

Alright, folks, I'm glad you've liked the last few chapters. But let's clear up a few things, shall we?

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you a FAQ section!

**Q. Does this story take place in an alternate universe?**

A. Yes. The Pevensie children have never gone to Narnia.

**Q. Where and when does this story take place then?**

A. It takes place in present-day England, as well as the Narnia that Caspian lived in.

**Q. Why did you do this?**

A. My new friend, Michele, and I discussed this in detail. I'll give you an excerpt from an email I sent to her.

"I like working with alternate universes because staying canon really restricts what can happen. The characters in a lot of canon stories become two-dimensional, like paper doll versions of the original creation. Somebody cuts out an existing character, and then gives them thin, flimsy and poorly attached layers. I didn't want to do that to Caspian and Lucy."

There, happy?

No?

Oh.

Okay.

Well, another reason I went the AU route is so I could make this a rather adult story. Lucy was a child in the original story. I wanted to her to be more grown-up when she met Caspian. That way, she can be somewhat desirable. Pedophilia is just nasty. Good heavens!

**Q. Why is Caspian so chauvinistic and pig-headed?**

A. Because he's a prince, and he's never had to be anything more when it comes to the pursuit of women.

**Q. But Lucy is just a child! How could she be of any desire to him?**

A. Again, I am going with the movie version of the Telmarines. They've black hair and sallow skin. For this story, Lucy is pale with brown hair, so she'd be very different, exotic even, and lovely in her own right. We're all fascinated by what we've never seen.

**Q. I don't see a plot.**

A. That's because there isn't one yet. Geez, people, what do you want from me? It's only been six chapters!

Anyways, that's all for now. On to the story!

* * *

_I've been shot._

All things considered, Lucy was surprisingly calm and level-headed. It was like she was completely separate from the situation. She knew there was an arrow wedged deep in her shoulder. She knew that it hurt like nothing she had ever known. It was a sharp, quick pain, and it resonated throughout her entire body; almost like a sudden blast of cold air or shock of electricity.

_I wonder if Peter has ever been shot_, she thought as she started shaking uncontrollably. The blood trickling down her chest was hot and sticky, and the salt in it stung her skin. But she could not lift her hands to wipe it away. Her arms hung like dead weight at her sides; not even her fingers twitched.

_I can't breathe!_ And she could not. Every time she drew in air, the air cut even more into her muscle. It only caused her to gasp and wheeze. She was paralyzed. None of this was supposed to be happening. She was not supposed to be there. Those men were not supposed to be real.

Lucy covered her face with hands, and let out a low cry of despair.

_I want to go home._

* * *

Caspian stared stupidly at the arrow piercing her flesh. It was short, and the wood was thick. It had come from one of the guard's crossbows!

"Stay back!," he shouted as he looked over his shoulder at the approaching soldiers. With every drop of blood lost, she went further into shock. Her eyes were unfocused and glassy – she looked like she had no idea what was going on. When she cried out into her palms, he felt his heart twist in his chest. As he watched the thin stream of blood trail down her chest, he realized she was no nymph sent to tempt him. She was human, and probably experiencing very human pain.

Suddenly, he was alert and full of motion. His hands flew to her hips, turning her until he could embrace her back was to him. "Shhh," he whispered soothingly into her ear as he embraced her to his chest. She shivered and whimpered in his hold, but she did not try to break away. This kind of violence must have been new to her. Such a wound would have taken down the mightiest warrior. For a young girl, small and slight, it must have been horrific. Even still, she did not fall to the ground in agony. She just shook against him and gasped. He wondered if there was more contributing to her state than the arrow.

"Glozelle, bandages and hot water," he called to the general. Caspian knew enough first aid to wrap cuts bruises, but the arrow had to come out. Of all the people Caspian knew, Glozelle would know the most about an injury like hers. Behind him, he could hear some of the guards rush back to the camp, obviously scrambling for healing herbs and extra gauze. The others lingered on the beach, staring curiously at their prince's back as he rocked back and forth in the sand.

"Don't worry, you'll be okay," he murmured in a soft voice. Even if he had not wanted her, she would have still been a young girl mistakenly shot by his men. The fact that did he want her made it ten times worse. Words escaped him as his arm stole around her svelte waist. His free hand smoothed up and down her arm, in what he hoped was a relaxing manner. He could do little more than lay his cheek against the crown of her head and coo softly into her hair.

She smelled so natural, like blackberries and pear nectar.

"Everything's fine," he sighed as he pressed his lips to the skin behind her ear.

* * *

Glozelle had been the one to notice the prince had been missing, and the first to run to the river. But he had not been the one to fire a crossbow. It had been a young soldier, Epaphras, and he had just been doing his duty. The man, who was no older than Caspian, looked distraught as his prince fussed over a young girl. They had not gotten a good look at her, but they all saw her arm wind up.

Assaulting the prince was a crime punishable by death. All threats were dealt with accordingly.

"You followed the protocol," Glozelle assured the sentry before rushing for his medical kit. With a speed that even the youngest sprinter could envy, he got his supplies and returned to his royal charge. But he was nearly floored by what he saw as reached the prince.

Encircled the strong arms of Caspian, was a young lady like he had never seen. Now he knew why the prince was so curious about nymphs. He would have been too if he had been holding her. She was both pale and dark, like early evening. To stain her fair skin with blood was like ruining the first snow of winter with flagrant footsteps. Once he got over his astonishment, he came to his knees before her.

Caspian looked at him with sharp, hawkish eyes. The demand in his gaze was clear – fix this, and fix it _now_.

He started by taking his off his riding coat to cover her bare legs. Even through her unfortunate circumstance, she had an aura the demanded respect. The least he could do was afford her the dignity of clothing.

"Dear, you need to calm down," he said in steady, even tone. Glozelle cupped her cheek and ran his thumb over his skin, much like he did to settle down his nieces. It did the trick. Her eyes, nearly black in the dim light, shakily met his. She was terrified and bewildered, but her focus was turning outward. He could see her conquering her shock. Her lips trembled, but the rest of her was slowly stilling – a good sign.

"Good job, dear. Now, I need to pull the arrow out. It's good and sharp, so there's a good chance that it will come out cleanly. It will be even better if you stay still.

Though she was the one to nod in agreement, it was Caspian who looked relieved. Glozelle watched in wonder as the boy closed his eyes and sighed into her velvety, dark locks. And then his stare returned to Glozelle. The two men shared a look of determination. He gave a nearly unnoticeable tip of his head as Caspian's free arm wrapped around the girl's chest, pinning her arms to her sides.

Glozelle let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.

"I'm going to count to three, love. Don't think anything of it."

Caspian's mouth thinned into a harsh line.

"One."

Glozelle rested his left hand on her shoulder, steadying her against Caspian's chest.

"Two."

His right hand, still and sure, wrapped around the arrow. Her slight hiss of pain only made him more stable.

The prince sharply drew in a breath – he knew what was coming.

"_Three!_"

* * *

Caspian hissed as the girl pitched forward and let loose a keening wail. Glozelle was there in an instant, pressing a cotton compress to the wound as it let out fresh rivulets of hot blood. He held her still, letting her weep as he applied enough pressure to stem the bleeding. Caspian simply held her, his arms wrapped around her waist in a circle of warm muscle.

As she bent over, he could see her back clearly in the moonlight. And what he saw was deeply troubling. On either shoulder were four quick cuts, red and scabbed over. Each scratch was identical in size and evenly spaced.

They must have been claws, but there were so perfect, so deliberately placed. They did not come from a house cat. Whatever animal inflicted them had large paws. But if an animal had attacked her, why did the arrow affect her so.

And then she leaned back against him, struggling for breath as her tears slowly came to a stop. From his perspective, he could see the arrow was gone, and the wound was no bigger. Sighing in relief, he raised his eyes to Glozelle's.

"Thank you," he mouthed quietly before he rested his cheek on her crown, closing his eyes as he rocked her back and forth.

She was out of the woods, safe and warm in his arms.

Caspian could not ask for more.

* * *

Lucy could not remember being in a stranger situation. There was a man in front of her with kind eyes, and one behind her with a warm, solid chest. She was missing her clothes, and she had a rather deep cut that was bleeding quite freely.

What it made it really strange is that she was doing nothing about it. Even thinking about moving was too strenuous. It was actually almost kind of nice. It had been so long since she had simply been held. There was no harm in stealing a few moments of comfort. That, and the blood loss had her seeing spots any time she tried to budge.

The crying and the throbbing agony robbed her of her energy, leaving her with only enough strength to sag against the boy… Caspian. Yes, they called him Caspian. It was almost a nice name. His parents must have been hippies.

"I think I am going to pass out," Lucy whispered blearily to the gentleman in front of her. He looked like a weather-beaten, hardened soldier, but he had been unfailingly gentle with her.

"You most likely will. Don't worry, we won't let anything harm you as you rest."

She sighed, letting the tension ease from her body, practically going limp. The boy, _Caspian_, tightened his arms around her, offering the support she so desperately needed.

"Sleep now, dear," the older soldier murmured as he tucked a strand of hair behind her hair.

In the morning, she would kill all of them, and enjoy it. But for now, she felt secure enough to sleep without the fear of being killed or raped or force-fed okra.

"Lucy," she muttered as her eyes fluttered shut.

"What?," the general questioned.

"My name – it's Lucy."

* * *

_Lucy._

What an odd name! Yet it seemed to suit her. Now that he knew her name, it made her even more human in his eyes. Guilt and shame poured hotly through him. He knew the law, and what would happen if it was broken. But did a weak jab from a young woman count as assault? Especially when he might have deserved it?

Glozelle obviously thought it did. The older man leveled him with a hard, stern expression.

"Caspian, I deserve some answers right now." Glozelle rarely spoke to him as an authoritarian, but the look in his eyes brooked no argument. And as his gaze flicked the barely discernible bruise on the left side of his jaw, Caspian knew this was not going to pass without a thorough discussion, and possibly an arrest.

* * *

Ooh, the boy looked positively squeamish. On any other day, Glozelle would find it amusing. But there was blood-stained, shivering, and mostly naked young woman asleep in the prince's arms. She had tried to him barely a half hour ago, and he suspected she succeeded several hours ago. That was enough to have her swinging from the gallows under Miraz's regime. What made it worse was how utterly helpless she seemed as she slept.

"We can't have this discussion with the girl like she is."

"What do you suggest we do then?" Glozelle might have been wrong, but there was a certain defiant edge to Caspian's tone.

"What 'we', Caspian? I don't think you should be the one to clean her up. Despite whatever you think, I need to take her into custody."

Glozelle, despite his fatherly affection for Caspian, was a stern believer in law and order. And, no matter how ridiculous they were, Miraz's rules needed to be followed.

He sighed, and laid a hand on Caspian's shoulder.

"Go talk to your men, specifically Epaphras. He's obviously confused. I'll take care of the blood. Don't worry. You and she have nothing to fear from me. When you have settled the soldiers, come back with a fresh tunic and a pair of pants from my saddle bags."

Caspian looked conflicted. His eyes fixed on the girl's hair. It was plain that he did not want to leave her; that he wanted to be the one to tend her.

After one long moment of contemplation, Caspian sighed in resignation. With unshakable care and softness, he transferred Lucy into Glozelle's arms. In turn, the general gently laid her in the sand, tugging his riding coat over legs, the collar reaching her waist. The boy prince stared at her for a good while, focusing on her troubled, sleeping face.

"Caspian. Go," Glozelle said firmly. And the young man did just that, though he cast one longing look over his shoulder as the young woman resting on the beach. He disappeared up the dunes into the forest. When Glozelle was sure he was out of hearing range, he dutifully set about wiping away the drying blood with the river's cold water.

"My dear girl," he whispered. "What have you done?"

* * *

I know, I know. Glozelle was an asshole in the book – conniving, ambitious, and a little bit foolish. But, again, I'm playing around with character development, and in this case, loyalty. So, I'm going to mix movie Glozelle with some of book Glozelle's characteristics.

Anyways, because I have reached over 100 reviews, I am going to have a little bit of a contest.

As a treat for the readers, I am going to write a short interlude that has nothing to do with the story's plot. It will take place in this universe, but it will not be included in the story. It's just a bonus, and exists on its own. Don't try and place it anywhere. Hell, let's just call it a one-shot.

Now, asides from the fact that it will be light-hearted and romantic, I leave the setting details up to the readers. Here is a list of options. When you review, which I hope you will, list your choices. I will form the story out of the most popular decisions.

Go to the next chapter for the ballot!


	8. Chapter Seven

Okay, for all of you who have this story under your alerts list, it seems like I've gone haywire with funky updates. Here's the thing - I am impulsive and over-eager. I thought of moving the one-shots to a whole new story so they wouldn't disrupt the flow of the story. So I moved them. Then I moved them back. I know, I am the worst sort of person. I'm all indecision and procrastination. So, if it looks like your email has been spammed with updates for this story, don't worry. It's just me being an idiot.

Anyways, this is the next story in the _original_ story. This is not the second one-shot. That won't be for another few chapters.

I now pronounce you, chapter and seven!

* * *

As the night burned into the dawn, Glozelle kept a vigilant watch over his young charge. He had chosen for her to remain on the beach. A woman, especially one like her, would be shock to the men. And, unfortunately, a welcome reprieve. Though they were allowed women, they had not been to a brothel in quite some time.

It had almost been amusing, watching Caspian hover at the forest's edge as he cleaned and clothed her. Glozelle could not tell if it was out of genuine concern or some misplaced sense of responsibility. More than once, he had to shoo the prince back to the camp. This was not some poor, helpless maiden who had drowned in the river. She had taken a swing at the future king, and accordingly must be brought to justice - even if Caspian had deserved it.

By sunrise, he was exhausted, and, consequently, very crank. The girl, even in sleep, got on his nerves. If not for her, he could have slept through the night. But he did not trust his men to leave her alone, nor Caspian to steal her away. He felt a yawn worm its way through his throat as the morning mists turned the world cold and grey. There was no harm in closing his eyes for a moment, right? She was practically comatose, and his men were not early risers.

He cast one final, bitter glance at the girl, and laid down in the sand, letting the sounds the bubbling brook whisk him away.

When his eyes slowly slid shut, Lucy's snapped open. Who did they think she was, some damsel in distress? What a bunch of pig-headed idiots. Yes, she had fainted. Yes, she had slept for a good portion of the night. But she had awoken an hour before the sunrise, and had kept an eye on the graying soldier. She surreptitiously watched him wear down with the minutes. Though she was sweet and kind-hearted, she was incredibly crafty when she needed it.

And right now, she needed it.

As soon as she felt that he was really out of it, Lucy sat up. It was all she dared to move for one good, long moment. When he did not wake up, she crept over to her bag. The tunic he had given her was well and good, but her skin crawled at the idea of someone else having been in it. Picking through her clothes after she unzipped it, she wondered about what to do.

There was no way she could run and not be caught. Whoever had shot her had very good aim, and there was no escaping six men on horseback. The most she could do at the moment was bathe and put on her own clothes. After that, she would leaves things up to chance.

By God, the tunic smelled like _man_; not a smelly man, but, still, a man – like musk and leather polish. She was by no means high maintenance, but smelling like a man was just a bit too adult for her. By chance or luck, her clothes were clean; the bag had taken most of the brunt during its trip downriver. They were damp, but not sopping – another small victory. And her uniform shirt was still clean and dry, another plus.

Lucy stared heavily at the tree line. There was no fire burning, no men moving, no motion at all. A good sign, she hoped.

As she sifted through each article of clothing, her hopes of being comfortable sank. She had packed for English weather – jeans, cardigans, some heavy socks, walking boots… nothing that dried quickly. The idea of being cold, damp and uncomfortable almost dashed her spirits. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Or, rather, a clean skirt downstream. But she could not put it on in her current state.

She smelled like a man, her cheeks were tight and salty, and her chest was still crusted with drying blood. The general had done a decent job cleaning up, but he had steered clear of her breasts – something she was deeply grateful for. She had not been mishandled during the night. If it was some inclination of the men's decorum, then she was in honorable hands. Not safe, per se, but honorable.

And since they seemed to be honorable (save for Caspian), she felt confident enough to take a quick, refreshing dip without any prying eyes.

She may have been confident, but her assessment of Caspian had been mostly correct.

He may have been honorable, but he was not blind.

* * *

The night for Caspian had been very unpleasant. He did not think himself to be authoritative or vindictive. But his men had crossed the line, in his mind at least. They had all wilted under his glare, but every time he tried to berate them, his tongue turned to lead. They had just been doing what they had been told to. It enraged him, but there was nothing to be said without incurring treason.

Nevertheless, he could barely look at Epaphras without throttling him. Epaphras was young and green, and very overeager. And, apparently, quite the ladies man. It never distracted him from his duties though. But it put all sorts of ideas in Caspian's head – irrational thoughts of his doe-eyed, wounded nymph.

Sleep evaded him, giving him plenty of time to think, and, more importantly, calm down. He realized he had been acting like a wild man chasing shadows through the streets. The poor girl, she was probably scared out of her mind; and mostly due to him, he realized. He had not exactly introduced himself. And, he did corner her while she was undressed.

Okay, so her first impression of him was probably terrible. But she was in their custody, and it was a long ride back to Beruna. There was enough time to repair his image. Or shackle her to his side, whichever came first.

The first step was to apologize to her for his indiscretions. He was a prince, he could be chivalrous and valiant. By the stars, he went to court nearly every day. The false gallantry so valued there turned him into a brilliant actor. But being polite to her would not be a farce. There was just an ulterior motive behind it. What it was, he was not entirely sure. It was whatever brought her closer to him.

As his men slept, he moved stealthily through the trees, intent on making it to the beach. He did not figure Glozelle into his plans. If truth be told, he did not really think of anything besides pleading his case to her.

Because of this, he was completely unprepared for the sight of her bathing. Unprepared, but not repulsed.

She was waist-deep in the dark water, and what skin he could see was completely exposed. He stared at her naked back like it was the first he had ever seen. Caspian could even see her shoulders shaking before she submerged.

"Milord, I just wanted to – _whoa_!"

Apparently, it was also the first naked back Epaphras had seen in a while.

Caspian snapped like a bow string. With a sound strangely like a snarl, he shoved the young soldier against a tree, his hands fisted in Epiphras's shirt.

"You are going to turn around right now, or I am going to kill you. Do you understand?"

"That's the young girl I shot yesterday?" Epaphras was still staring at the river. "My my, she is a springy young thing, isn't she? A little pallid, for my tastes, but -."

Caspian rolled his eyes and all but tossed the soldier in the direction of the camp.

"Go, _now_."

Epaphras held up his hands in placating surrender before walking back. Caspian watched him until he was no longer visible. In fact, he spent so long making sure Epaphras did not even peek at the bathing beauty, that he missed Lucy swim away to retrieve her clothing. Nor did he see her return and dress with startling swiftness.

By the time he looked back to the shoreline, she was completely dressed and drying her hair with something from her bag. He was somewhat disappointed, but more elated that her injury was not debilitating.

Caspian seized this obvious opportunity to approach her. No attempt was made to be furtive as he skid down the dunes. She looked up at him through her lashes, still kneeling as she wrung out her hair.

"Good morning," he said amiably as she favored him with a wry glare. "There's need for that."

"Am I anywhere near Madrid?"

_Madrid?_

"I'm sorry, I've never heard of that town." Her shoulders sagged under some invisible weight.

"Well, then what is the closest town?" She was combing her hair with some ferocity. Every time she vigorously attacked a knot, he winced in pain. The women he knew, even the servants, spent hours oiling and coiling their hair, picking apart tangles with silver pins. A woman's hair was her mantle.

"Would you please stop that?"

"Stop what," she asked with a questioning brow, still tearing into her pretty mane.

"Mistreating you hair like that?" Her tinkling laugh was patronizing and flippant, matched by her deprecating and uncaring smile.

"It's just hair."

"And it is just attached to your head."

She only shrugged as she pulled the brown tresses over her shoulder to braid them. "So, what is the closest town?"

"I believe it is Beaversdam." He peered at her curiously.

"Milady, where do you think you are?"

"Spain," she stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Caspian only shook his head.

* * *

Lucy was taken aback at this.

"Well, then, Portugal?"

"I have never heard of such places."

She sat back on her haunches, staring up at him in need of answers.

"Then where am I?"

"You are in Narnia."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the silliness of it all. They were _way_ into role-play. Unless this was some weird, Medieval commune that had shunned society. But no one could retreat so far into the wilderness that they forgot the modern world entirely. However there was something strange going on. In any other place, civilization permeated even the most remote locations. But there was no noise, no pollution. Everything was clean and untouched by industry. Instead of car exhaust, she smelled honey and sun-baked earth. The only sound was the running water of the river, and the cheery morning calls of chattering birds.

Lucy looked over the river, and the forest on the opposite shore. There were birch trees with paper bark and golden green leaves. She could pick out water oaks, maple trees, even a blossoming magnolia. The ground was covered with sweet clover and wild grasses. Lucy could not remember any description of Spanish forests looking like this one did.

"What river is this?"

"The Great River, miss."

"A great river, you say…"

She could hear the sand crunching beneath the man's boot as he came to stand beside her.

"Lucy?"

"I have no idea where I am." She must have looked so lost as she gazed up at him.

"Perhaps if you took a ride to the edge of this forest, you might find your bearings."

She looked up at him with a defiant stare that could have frozen boiling water.

"I have no reason to trust you won't kill me the moment we're alone." He only chuckled, smiling down brightly at her. If this was not a potentially deadly situation, she would have blushed. Comely, masculine men did not smile at her, save for Peter. And brothers did not look at sisters the way Caspian stared at her.

Caspian.

_Caspian._

"Caspian, your name is Caspian."

* * *

His smile turned positively beaming. "You know my name."

"I heard it said last night."

It was a risk, but he placed his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. She stared at it inquisitively before arching a brow at him.

"I'll tell you what. You can ride my horse, while I will take the reins from the ground. If you want to run away, just dig your heels into her side." He did not tell her that Glozelle's black war horse was the fastest in the cavalry.

"You'll take me to the edge of the forest?"

"By my word."

* * *

He was surprised by her skill with horseback riding. She did not need his help mounting Doris, and she was quite confident in the saddle.

"You've dealt with horses before?"

"There was an equestrian team at my school."

Any time he tried to converse with her, she answered with a single sentence. She never asked him questions. He could not really blame her. Her gaze was always on her surroundings. She stared at everything and anything with wide-eyed amazement and curiosity. It only confirmed that she was not from Narnia. Fortunately, the silence was almost amiable. The sun was burning away the morning fog, and the forest shined dewy and jade.

He could see the end of the forest approaching. "We're almost there, milady." She did not respond, not that he expected her to. Some fifty feet from the tree line, he stopped the horse, indicating they would travel by foot with a tilt of his chin.

Amazingly, she did not resist when he helped her down. Her hands were on his shoulders as he grasped her waist, sliding her down the length of him until her feet touched the ground. Even more amazingly, she tucked her slim hand into the crook of his elbow, allowing him to lead her. Caspian sensed that it was only because she was unsure of her surroundings.

They walked in silence, their footsteps quieted by the soft grass. He occasionally caught a glimpse of her dark head as she walked beside him. He dared not ruin the peaceful attitude with silly questions.

As they got further and further to the border of the woods, he felt her stiffen. Sometimes she faltered in her steps, nearly knocking them off kilter.

"Well, here we are." And there they were. Beyond the forest was a rolling expanse of green fields, spotted occasionally with boulders and sloping rock hills. It was really lovely, in all actuality. Sometimes farmers would lead their cattle to graze there. But it was obviously not what she expected.

"Holy shit."

* * *

There we go! The next 'gift' is a few chapters away. I wanted to get back to the story.

As always, REVIEW!


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter eight, anyone?

* * *

There was nothing, absolutely nothing. No radio towers, no smoke stacks, no sky scrapers, nothing. Nothing for miles, save for some hypnotized bunnies. The river coiled through that nothingness like a monstrous, cobalt snake. If her jaw was not attached to her head, it would be on the ground.

She was not in Spain, she was not in England, she was not on any map, or in any geography book. Lucy was a smart girl, and curious about the world around her. So curious, that she willingly studied world history and topography with Eustace before each test. She almost regretted it in that moment. Maybe if she was ignorant of the world's natural beauty, she would have some hope.

But her knowledge tore that hope to shreds. No location on God's green Earth looked anything like this place.

"Holy shit."

* * *

Well, he was not expecting _that_ reaction.

Then again, punching seemed to be an involuntary reaction with her.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"My mother's dead."

He was officially a monster. But she did not seem sad about it.

More than anything, she sounded wholly flabbergasted. She squeaked fearfully like a pinned down mouse. Her mouth opened and shut repeatedly like she was trying to speak. To him, she looked like a gasping fish flopping around on a ship deck. It would have been cute, really, if not for the fact that she looked like she was going to faint again.

Ever the gentlemen, Caspian gently took hold of her elbow, lest she fall and hit her head.

"Lucy?"

"I think I'm lost."

"I have to agree."

Although she seemed shaky and unstable, she did not so much as wobble as she walked back to the horse. Caspian's hand fell limply at his side as he watched her slide into the stirrup. With all the grace of a skilled horse maiden, she climb on Doris's back, expectantly waiting for Caspian to take the reign.

"You ride like a man," he said pleasantly, indicating her legs, which were on either side of the saddle.

"So?"

"Most women here ride side…"

* * *

Lucy looked at him with a perplexed expression when he did not finish. Caspian was focused on something behind her. She wondered what could have drawn his eye, until she heard it herself.

"She's trying to steal the prince's horse!"

As she looked over her shoulder, her brows knitted together at what she saw. The guards, all on horseback, were racing towards Caspian and her at breakneck speed. At first, she was baffled. She was not trying to steal Caspian's horse. He was right there, for God's sakes. But, then again, she was in the saddle, and he was on the ground.

Damn it.

"Not again," she groaned as she waited for the inevitable. They had their crossbows out, the overzealous pricks, ready and willing to shoot first, and ask questions later.

"Not again is right."

* * *

Caspian sound firm and determined. The whole armed guard thing was getting out of hand.

"Lucy, take your feet out of the stirrups." Her face and aura betrayed her uncertainty, but she did as he commanded. As soon as her feet were loose, his were sliding in. A second later he was behind her, mounted firmly on the saddle. He ignored her indignant yelp as he reached around her to take hold of the bridle.

"Get off, you stupid oaf!" He ignored that as well.

"If they catch us, you'll probably be in prison for the next twenty years." Her petrified gasp was enough to spur him forward, with or without her permission. But when her hands wrapped around the saddle horn, he knew she would be okay.

"Hold on tightly," he said into her hair as he dug his heels into the mare's sides. She sped off faster than a falcon, weaving through the trees back towards the original encampment.

"Like I need to be told that!," she shouted over the wind rushing past their ears. Sometimes, he really wished she would shut up.

* * *

Glozelle was tired, undoubtedly. He had chased the prince for a day and a half without stopping, only to babysit a girl through the night. Of course he was going to rest. But he was a notoriously light sleeper – the slightest noise had him awake and alert in seconds. So it was not possible that he would sleep through Caspian and Lucy's leaving, or the commotion of the guards chasing after the pair.

He owed his wonderful, deep sleep to Lucy. The pixie that had unraveled her knotted hair had many friends. Most of them were good, but the good ones did not care for Telmarines. However, the mischievous pixies delighted in helping all humans, though usually they did more harm than good.

The pixie 'aiding' Glozelle had taken the form of a pine martin, a creature found throughout all of Narnia. That way, it would not be chased off or recognized as a pixie.

Its work was done within a matter of seconds. It dashed up, glued together the seams of Glozelle's eyes with Valerian nectar, sang a sweet lullaby, and ran off into the trees. But the damage was done. The general was locked deep within the world of dreams. Although his energy was replenished with every drowsy minute, he lost all sense of time and location.

So, it is easy to imagine the surprise of Caspian and Lucy as they came upon the general, sleeping like a baby.

The ride had been uncomfortable for the both of them. The saddle fit both of them, but every bump and curve jarred Lucy into Caspian. By the time they arrived at the beach, they were tattered and sore. Lucy's thighs were so cramped that she _asked_ Caspian to help her dismount. He answered with open arms and a painful grunt.

During their jaunt, they did have a very brief question and answers session.

"_How old are you?!"_

"_Fourteen! How old are you?!"_

"_Twenty!"_

"_So, you're a prince?!"_

"_Uh-huh! My uncle is king!"_

"_This is a messed-up country!"_

And that was the end of it.

They approached Glozelle hesitantly, wondering if he was dead or just playing with them. Caspian even went so far as to lightly kick him in the side. Lucy, being of the fairer sex, was a little gentler in her handling of the general. She knelt by his side, and pressed her ear to his chest. There was a solid, steady thudding sounding through her head, affirming that he was indeed alive.

"I think he's just asleep."

"That's not possible," Caspian said with another not-so-gentle kick.

"Would you quit that?!"

Glozelle felt as if his entire body was swathed in cotton. The world around him was muted and hazy. He could hear muffled conversations above him. His limbs were tied down by lethargy, and his eyelids were glued shut. Literally.

But it was beginning to wear off, and he almost regretted it. He had not slept so well in ages.

"We could toss water on his face."

"Go ahead and try. I'll be on the other side of the river."

"What do you suggest then?"

"I say we tie him up and leave him."

"You can't do that, he's _your_ general."

Glozelle let out a rumbling groan from somewhere deep in his chest. Like a lazy teenager, he tossed an arm over his eyes. "Five more minutes."

He heard tandem gasps of surprise and pleasure.

_Wait… two?_

Blearily opening his eyes, he peered up at two faces hovering over him; one pale and feminine, the other tan a strong-jawed.

"I'm not dead, you raving pack of idiots," he growled as he sat up, shoving the both of them out of his way. In spite of his unpleasant greeting, he gladly took Lucy's hand as she helped him up. Caspian, not one to be out done, yanked him up roughly by the elbow. This was not as helpful. The two of them had identical expressions laced with satisfaction and just a hint of fear.

"What did you two do?"

Before they could answer (Glozelle doubted that they would answer at all), there came the six other guards down the beach, like ducklings crossing a busy street. They were all trying to speak on top of each other. Between the clanging armor and the rushing river, Glozelle had no idea what they were trying to say.

"She was trying to -."

"And then he -."

"I was the one -."

"The little minx was about to -."

"The prince really needs -."

"Does this make me look -."

Glozelle held up one hand, the other tiredly rubbing his eyes.

"I don't care. This is where all of you be quiet. We'll ride to Beaversdam, spend a night there, and then ride to Beruna. You all," he pointed to the guards, "start packing things up. You," he pointed to Lucy, "Wait here, you'll be riding with me. And _you_," he waved his finger at Caspian, who looked like he was about to object. "Don't even think about it. If you even think about trying something, I will put her in shackles."

He turned his eyes on a sputtering Lucy. "Me?! I couldn't go anywhere if I tried! Why not put _him_ in handcuffs?"

"Because he can ride with shackles on. You can't. Oh, by the way. You're under arrest. Charged with attempted assault. If you even think about running, I will tie you to this horse, and make you walk the fifty miles back to Beruna. From there, I will have you escorted in chains to Miraz's castle. Are we understood?"

The look in her dark eyes was entirely too defiant. Her lips twisted, and her palms curled into white-knuckled fists at her sides. She cast the most evil and accusing glare at Caspian, who, in turn, stared beseechingly at her. There were so many different undercurrents and unspoken words between the two of them, but Glozelle did not give a care.

He did, however, feel some guilt when she turned away from Caspian, presenting her back to the young man. Caspian's face fell; the poor boy.

Oh well!

"Fine by me." Her tone was so cold it could turn the river to ice. It even had his men shivering in their boots. What a fearsome little thing she was! Poor Caspian, he was certainly not taking her cold shoulder well. He looked like he wanted to plead his case.

"Get on your damn horse."

He could plead his case some other time.

* * *

The ride to Beaversdam was awkward, uncomfortable, and just plain unpleasant. Lucy clung so tightly to Glozelle that he finally understood why women complained about their corsets. For her part, Lucy kept her eyes glued to the spot between Glozelle's shoulder blades. Caspian spent his time trying to catch Lucy's eye, occasionally glaring at his soldiers. They kept staring at the young lady, the bolder ones peeping down at her legs.

When they crested the hill overlooking the large town of Beaversdam, Glozelle realized they had a slight… well, gargantuan problem. Bringing a prince, armed guards, and a strange girl into a town with the majority of the Telmarine population seemed like a huge risk – one he was not sure he wanted to take. He was at an impasse. And his thighs were cramped.

That problem was easy to solve. He simply got off of the horse. The other problem was not so easy to handle.

"What do we do?" The question was directed at Caspian. Even though the boy was in deep trouble, he still had some authority.

"We can't ride straight to Beruna. It's too far for the horses, and there's no place for us to stop. We'll just have to go to the inn where the officer's stay."

"Getting there is a problem though."

"Can somebody help me off of this horse?" Lucy sounded small and timid, as if she was too shy to ask. Before Glozelle could say no, Caspian was at her side, helping her down. The prince's new chivalry was disconcerting. He never treated the women of nobility with the same care or concern. And the noble women never treated Caspian with the disdain and disinterest that Lucy did.

"We'll just have to ride under the cover of night." Caspian could not find anything wrong with that statement.

* * *

Ooh, she was pissed at him. He could see it in the way she snapped out her clothes with a little more vigor than necessary. Since they had a few hours to kill, she decided to hang out her wet clothes to dry in the setting sun. It was strangely fascinating; he had never seen such an odd wardrobe. Everything was rather boyish; she had a few pairs of oddly-cut pants, several shirts that looked incredibly tight fitting, and what had to have been a very short night gown.

Her silence was unbearable. He felt responsible for her arrest. The last thing he wanted was to present her before Miraz.

While the other men presumably played dice, he padded over to her, pretending to examine one of her shirts. He tried to think of something to say that could explain all of this and maybe give her some peace of mind, but words were not his strong point.

"The inn is nice."

_Oh yeah, real smooth. Why not tell her that the prison is dandy?_

"Is it? Will I get my own room?" Thankfully, she was able to handle his inarticulacy with grace.

"Unfortunately, no. We need to be as discreet as we can. You, Glozelle and I will share the largest suite. The men will go their barracks."

"So I'm stuck with you and General Jerk for a whole night?"

"Uh… yes."

"Very well."

* * *

I know, I know, things have started slowing down. But, they need to get to know each other. THINGS CAN'T ALWAYS BE DRAMATIC!

Now, you know the drill. Review, and you shall get another chapter.


	10. Chapter Nine

Here is the next chapter. This is all for you. ALL FOR YOU!

Much love to _you_.

Oh yeah, you know what I'm talkin' about.

Also, all of the guards are original characters. Their roles are so minor, that I did not feel like scouring every source to finding canon guards. So, nyeh.

By the way, you can find all of the names and their meanings at Behindthename(dot)com.

* * *

The hours passed so slowly that Lucy actually had time to get to know the guards. Of course, it was only because they would not leave her alone. She figured that if she got them to talk, they would not ask her incriminating questions. This place, this _Narnia_, was still too confusing to her. She did not know if she was in another country, in another world, or in any world at all. Part of her realized she might actually be dead. She did come from a Christian family, so there was a strong probability that this was her limbo. It was not Hell. At least, it did not seem to be Hell, though it certainly was punishing. It could not be heaven, as her parents and Elvis were not there.

But, the larger part of her felt alive – which was why she got to know the guards.

The highest ranked and oldest was Raban at forty-two, grey haired with a grizzled beard. He reminded Lucy of movie stars who only got sexier as they aged, like George Clooney and Sean Connery. She could totally see herself swooning over him, if it were not for his mean nature and penetrating glare. It was obvious he did not like her.

Next was Naoise (pronounced NEE-sha). Naoise was thirty-eight, graying at the temples, and a blacksmith when he was not protecting the prince. He offered to make Lucy a new pair of earrings when he noticed one of hers was missing. This made him officially cool in her book.

Following Naoise was Faramond, age thirty-three. He had close-cropped black hair and a dimple in his cheek whenever he smiled. When not playing soldier, he lived at home with his younger sisters, three and five respectfully. His kind smile and honest eyes reminded Lucy of a golden retriever. When she got back to England, she was buying a puppy.

Then came Balder, thirty, who was not balding. In fact, he had a short, black pony tail tied low on his neck. Balder enjoyed hunting, hunting, and more hunting. The loves of his life were his two hunting dogs. Freya was a water dog best used for duck hunting, while Odin was perfect at taking down large prey. Lucy was very uncomfortable, as he kept rubbing his crossbow like he wanted to shoot her.

After Balder came Liber. Evander was twenty-eight, top of his class, and very unhappy as a soldier. It was a job he was good at, not one he enjoyed. He had always wanted to be a florist or tailor. He also stared at the prince a bit too much. Lucy figured if she ever needed to go dress-shopping, he would be a willing partner.

And then there was Epaphras. His parents were successful merchants looking to become nobility, or at least get as close as possible to the royal family. So, they practically sold him to the training school, where he whored his way into a service position. At any rate, that's what Glozelle told her after Epaphras had apologized for shooting her by telling her she had nice legs. When she accepted his apology by punching him in the nose, Glozelle actually _thanked_ her.

And then there was Caspian.

He was prince of this so-called Narnia, the nephew of King Miraz; whom she was being presented to as a criminal. Yeah, she was _soooo _looking forward to that. The only other information she had about him was that he had dark eyes, and was twenty years old. Every time she even looked at him, he withered. Even when she was not glaring at him, he withered. Maybe her aura still screamed of anger and injustice.

Caspian did attempt to get on her good side by helping her fold her laundry. Unfortunately, he picked up a lacy black panty, and would not let go. She could tell by his blush and slightly horrified expression that it was accidental, but she was too tired and too angry to find it cute.

Night did eventually fall. This time she rode with Naoise, who treated her with a little more care than Glozelle. Together with Caspian, they would take a slightly longer route outside the city. Then, they would take some alley ways to the inn. It seemed like a simple plan.

Glozelle and the other men did not even say goodbye as they took off to the city. The two groups just took their separate paths. Lucy could not get over how pristine everything was. The sky was so perfect – not a star was hidden by light pollution or smog. For God's sake, she had a moon shadow. The town, large in its own right, was lit like the soft flickering of a candle's flame. It was but a speck of light nearly swallowed by the night around it. She could hear the faints sounds of humanity on the wind – music, laughter, shouting, but no cars or anything of the sort. This was a place that time kindly forgot.

But something smelled wrong. At first it was just a faint annoyance – something she could ignore. But they must have been moving closer to it. It was foul, rank, like something spoiled and left out to rot. Soon it was choking her, creeping down her throat. She had to press her face between Naoise's shoulders to keep from gagging. The scent was sickly sweet and acidic, rancid and burnt. She thought they might be approaching a trash heap, but she could not see the tell tale piles of garbage.

"What is that awful stench?"

Naoise tilted his head to the left. She tried to see what he was indicating, but all she could see was a stripped tree with some Spanish moss. And then it hit her.

That was no tree.

It was a gallows.

And that was not Spanish moss hanging from it.

"What…"

"He tried to steal some gold from Miraz's carriage at knife point."

"Did he know it was the king's?"

"No."

And she had hit the crown prince.

_What's going to happen to me?_

* * *

Lucy seemed dazed and unfocused as they sneaked their way into the city, and eventually the inn. Her knees nearly gave out beneath her when she dismounted. She followed them in without a word, letting them lead her like a horse. For the life of him, Caspian could not figure out what was wrong with her. She had been firecrackers and flint sparks, and now she was as cold and lifeless as ashes. When they got to the room, she went and sat on the bed without a word.

Looking lost and hopeless simply did not suit her.

Dismissing Naoise with a wave of his hands, he took slow, unthreatening steps toward the listless young woman.

"Lucy…?," he asked quietly as he came to kneel before her. She was staring at her hands, which bit into her bare legs in white knuckled fists. If she gripped any harder, she would break her skin. "Lucy," he said once again, a little more firmly. Caspian wrapped his hands around her wrists, prying her nails away from her thighs. Before she could curl them into her palms, he threaded his fingers through hers. They were surprisingly cold. Something was very wrong.

"Did that man really deserve to be executed?"

"What do you… oh." He knew what the problem was.

"That won't happen to you. I'm pretty sure Miraz will give you a medal for hitting me." He had made a joke that actually made sense, something he did not do often. But all she did was retreat further into herself.

"He killed someone for unknowingly robbing the wrong person. That's something the deserves jail time, not execution."

"It's an offense punishable by death."

She looked absolutely betrayed. Those fine, dark eyes of hers were endlessly accusatory, instead of just endless.

"So my life is worth more than his, even though my so-called _crime_ was greater than his."

"Well… Yes. It is."

"Why?," she scoffed as her mouth twisted bitterly.

"Because you are so special. I just thought that we could be friends."

It was too simple, too plain. He was not gifted with words. Women liked poets, which meant he was royally screwed.

But for Lucy, it was the most perfect thing he could have said. He finally gave her a reason why he had even pulled her from the river. He finally gave her some hope that she would not be fed to the wolves.

She had her first friend in this strange world.

Just as Caspian was about to ask for a second chance to speak his mind, Lucy drew her hands back. But he only had a second to feel dismayed – she started, well, fondling his hands. But fondling was too strong, too negative. This was actually quite nice. She was running her fingertips over his palms, his knuckles, paying special attention to every line and crease.

"You have big hands," she said idly as she ran her thumb over the base of his wrist. She seemed quite content to survey each callous and cuticle.

"They're pretty clumsy and not very gifted. I don't treat them very well, either." Caspian could not help but notice that her hands were the antithesis to his. They were small and pale, and obviously well cared for, however not to the point of vanity. They were soft, but they were still hands – a worker's tool, as well as an artist's.

"They're good hands." He had never received a better compliment. "So, you'll make sure I don't die tomorrow?"

"I promise."

But she could not get the sight of that man out of her head. Her mind entertained her with thoughts of a mangled, fetid corpse left to burn in the sun, a rotting feast for swarming flies and crying ravens.

Her fears and stomach were somewhat settled with what had to be the heartiest meal she had ever had. The two of them sat down at the small, scrubbed wooden table, where they enjoyed a thick mutton stew cushioned by rice pilaf. A healthy diet was the last thing on her mind when they brought out freshly made butter and bread so rich it clogged her arteries. She nearly died when he brought her spiced pudding drizzled with honey.

Caspian could not believe how hungry she was. She was not slovenly as she ate, but she was definitely in a hurry to taste everything. It was mostly his fault – he should have given her something to eat earlier. Looking at her now, taking obvious delight in every flavor, it was well worth starving her. He would keep that to himself.

"Can I have that?" She pointed to his peach cobbler with obvious envy.

"Go ahead."

* * *

Caspian stared, disheartened, at the small figure nestled sweetly among the covers of the four-poster bed. He had lied to her. He was _not_ sure if he could save her Miraz's wrath. There was no guarantee that she would not get the noose. Feeling much older than he actually was, he collapsed into his chair. Everything was going so fast. Nothing like this had ever happened to him. He had never saved someone, only to send them to their death

He was beginning to think that she just fell from the sky. There was too much she did not understand, too much that was new to her. He was certain of one thing – she was not Telmarine, and she was not from Narnia. He had visited neighboring countries, but he had been much younger. Maybe things had changed? And the world was very vast – perhaps she was from some unexplored territory.

But even foreigners unaware of customs and laws were not safe from the ax. If anything, Miraz could use her to start a war.

The door opened and closed, the lock clicking into place. Heavy footsteps fell across the wooden floor, coming to a stop some feet behind him.

"I have to bring her to Miraz. You know he works above the courts on matters like this."

"What can I do to keep her safe?"

"Short of admitting you tried to force yourself on her, nothing."

Caspian's heart dropped to his stomach. Glozelle's hand fell on his shoulder, perceptibly in what he thought was a fatherly motion.

"Get some sleep. Maybe Miraz will be lenient."

The two men went to sleep with their full minds and heavy hearts.

At least, that is what Glozelle thought.

* * *

With her stomach filled, and her fears somewhat allayed, Lucy slept deeply. It was so nice to have a mattress beneath her (albeit a lumpy one), and a blanket above her. Drawing the curtains only added to her comfort. She did not even dream about the coming day. The morning was a world away. Right now, all she had to worry about was breathing.

And whatever was touching her eyebrows. At first, it was just a minor thing, but the more she ignored it, the more insistent it became. She tried brushing it away, but it just came back every time. She finally had to open her eyes to see what was so rudely bothering her.

"Caspian…," she mumbled sleepily, her voice low and husky with sleep. Caspian could imagine her saying his name like that under much different circumstances.

"Tomorrow, when you go before Miraz, you have to say that I tried to rape you."

If he was looking to wake her up, he certainly succeeded.

"What?!"

He shushed her with a finger to her mouth, and peeked at the still sleeping Glozelle, who owed his rest to the chamomile tea he shared with a barmaid. Caspian was pretty sure they did not use tea cups. Seeing that he was not going to wake, he climbed in the bed with Lucy, who was sputtering quite cutely as he closed the curtains.

"It's the only way you can get out of this unscathed." She could only stutter and stammer as he climbed over her.

"Without evidence, I'm as good as dead!" Mercifully, she was whispering, albeit heatedly. He fumbled around in the dark, until there was a candle lit between them. He was briefly stunned by her bare shoulders, but quickly regained his footing.

"Don't worry, I'll admit to it. Miraz likes to pretend he is an honorable man. More than that, he doesn't want a scandal on the royal family. He'll try to buy you out, which is the best thing for us right now."

"Us? What us? Do you have a mouse in your pocket?"

"Listen, this is all I could think of. I don't know how else I could help you."

Lucy wanted to say no. She wanted to tell him that the plan was ludicrous – that she would never go along with it. But he looked so honest, so earnest, so intense. There were a million reasons to say no.

So she said yes.

"But it has to work. I will haunt you forever if I die."

Those eyes of his, blacker than night, were as bright with happiness as the midday sun.

"This'll work," he assured her with that funny, Spanish accent of his. "I promise you." In his excitement, and her relief, neither of them said anything about the lingering kiss he pressed to her forehead before he blew out the candle. He went back to his sleeping mat, and she returned to her dreaming.

Though now, she dreamt of Caspian, how good it felt punching him, and how warm his lips were. Caspian entertained thoughts of making Miraz look like a fool, while saving his water nymph's lovely neck from rope burn.

Glozelle, well, he was remembering how much he liked the barmaid's 'teacups'.

* * *

Ah, rape. Who knew it could be used as a 'get out of jail free' card?

Would you please review? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?

And to all of those who've added this story to your alerts, THANK YOU!

Now, could you guys review as well?

Also, there were several pop culture references.

The 'hypnotized bunnies' are from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

"You are so special. I just thought that we could be friends."

This is actually a line from a song by Hellogoodbye.

I love Pop Culture references, but it's hard to slip them in overtly. Thus, I use my subtle clues. Am I the only one watching these movies? XD

REVIEW!


	11. Chapter Ten

I present to you, gratuitous fan service! That's right. In reality, I just wanted them to at least touch each other. Not that way, mind you. It's odd. I have a strong attachment to these characters, and as much as I want them to get their Mack on, I just can't write… yes I can! I owe you guys a one-shot, don't I?

Anyways, here is some 'important' fan service.

Also, that one-shot will be under a separate story. So, make sure you check the profile page!

* * *

That morning, Lucy had a very hard time picking out something to wear. She had laid out all of her clothes on the bed, trying to pick something that screamed 'don't kill me'. Her uniform was out of the running; she did not want her bare legs attracting attention. She refused to play the sex card. How would she do it, anyway? She was fourteen and painfully shy. Besides, it was Susan's job to get what she wanted through skin.

She decided on a pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt, worn under her school blazer – the t-shirt was tighter than she liked to admit (yet another thing Susan would wear). This is what people going to court must have felt like, only she did not have the privilege of dressing to impress. The most she could hope for was not looking like a whore. There was no chance that she would look 'normal' to these people, so that was out of the picture.

More than anything, she wanted something to cover her neck. Shortly after their little pow-wow, Lucy dragged Caspian back into her bed. And, unfortunately, it did go to a very weird place.

* * *

"_This isn't going to work!" she hissed at him as she pinned him to the mattress. He looked stunned. In her anger and dread, she had forcibly towed him to her bed and held him hostage against her pillows._

"_Why won't it?" He sounded bewildered. How cute. How totally fucking cute._

"_Because, besides our words, we have no proof that this happened. Which it didn't." He just made her so mad, the insufferable idiot. "Since I am going to die tomorrow, I might as well __**kill you now**__." Straddling his hips, she shook him like a dog attacking a rag doll. "You are so dead!"_

"_Please stop that," he whispered as he sat up. Lucy did not take into account how much stronger he was than her. All it took to still her was his hands wrapped firmly around her upper arms, almost painfully so. "Now, what are you talking about?"_

_She started shaking. "No proof. No evidence. Nothing they can touch, nothing they can see. Nothing they can point to and say that you even touched me. I'll get pinned with assault, and you'll be comforted for getting hit by a girl! The most that'll happen to you is that you'll be teased for not dodging in time! __**I AM GOING TO DIE**__!" How she managed to whisper was beyond her._

"_You are not going to die. I'll suffer some ridicule, but you are not going to die." He was shaking her this time, gently knocking some sense into her. "We'll just have to tweak our plan again."_

"_There goes that 'we' again. Is the mouse back? Please, tell the mouse to go away." Caspian did not hear her. He was eyeing her bare neck with frightening intent._

"_We could always fake the necessary evidence."_

"_I am not having sex with you! That's illegal and just gross!" He looked mildly offended and baffled all at once._

"_I didn't mean that, though I will remember your sentiments in the future. But we just need something. Nothing extreme." When he did not look up from her throat, she understood exactly what he was thinking. It made her skin crawl, but it was the only way he could 'violate' her without actually violating her._

"_If this hurts, you're dead." She ignored the way her voice trembled, ignored that fiercely protective look in his eyes. This was all so absurd._

"_I don't think it will hurt," he whispered heavily as he wrapped his arms around her waist, gathering her against his chest. "If it does, you may do the same to me." Lucy gasped and tangled one of her hands in his hair, yanking viciously. "I meant hurt me! Though I think we're even now. Geez." _

_Caspian bent his head forward slightly, until his nose brushed against her cheek. Taking his time so he did not frighten her, he pressed his lips cautiously to the skin behind her ear, kissing a trail down to the base of her throat. Though he was probably being too thorough, Lucy was beginning to see the appeal in having a boyfriend. But when she remembered that he was twenty, ice poured through her veins. This was against the law in several countries._

_And then he was gently pulling at her pulse point, his mouth warm and wet over her hypersensitive skin. Her parents probably rolled around in their graves as her eyes closed on a gasp. Caspian felt her go still in his lap, like she had forgotten how to move. With her in his arms, he realized that he was being quite selfish. He was taking more for the sake of taking than helping her._

_Before things went too far, he drew back, taking a look at his handiwork. Even in the low light, he could see the rosy patch of skin, quickly bruising from where his mouth had been. That was evidence enough, right?_

_For several long moments, they could not even look at each other. Then she slowly backed away from his lap, until her shoulders bumped into one of the canopy's posts._

"_If you tell anyone about this, I will poison your dinner." He found her death threats to be adorable, though he was certain she might make good on them. Her innocent naiveté was evident as she timidly pressed her hand to the still moist spot against her throat. She looked much older then, her dark doe eyes all at once ancient and youthful. _

"_I don't think I'll have to worry about telling them anything. That spot will be purple by morning. I'll attest that it's my doing."_

"_Damn straight you will."_

* * *

She wish she had brought a turtleneck.

* * *

Caspian cursed himself for his foolish behavior. He had practically taken advantage of her. His expectations as a gentleman were pushed aside when she held him down into the pillows, flushed and furious. Had she been naked and moaning, maybe then the situation would have called for his thorough attention to detail.

At that moment, he hated and loved being a grown man. He loved that he felt that way about Lucy, and hated himself for daring to feel that way at all. The logic was confused, but it made perfect sense to him.

He was careful to avoid Glozelle as he prepared for the coming ride to Beruna. Lucy would be presented to Miraz in the evening – a messenger hawk had already alerted her to him. From that point on, it was just a matter of waiting, and hoping he could pass his bravery to Lucy.

When she finally arrived, dressed in an odd pair of pants, she would not look at him. If truth be told, she would only let him see the back of her head. Without words, she was telling him that she blamed him. And if truth be told again, he would have to agree.

Getting on the road was unceremonious and quick. She rode with at the helm with Glozelle, while the other members of the party trailed behind. The guards' eyes flitted around the forest on either side of the road, while Caspian kept his eye on Lucy's neck, on a bruise usually associated with physical intimacy.

Glozelle was no fool. He knew Lucy and Caspian were up to something. But he did not know what. As much as he did not want to, this was something he would have to wait out.

Lucy was just ill at ease. Being away from the comforts of her world was beginning to wear on her. She had never considered herself to be high maintenance, which was why she had yet to complain to Glozelle or Caspian. With so many things weighing on her, cramped thighs or dry hands were nothing to balk. What really bothered her was the mark on her throat. It did not hurt, per se, but she was always aware of it. Whenever she moved her arm, she felt a slight twinge.

_My first hickey_, she thought.

_My first hickey, and it wasn't that fun._

_Susan is such a liar._

* * *

They arrived at Beruna later than they thought they would. It was another game of hide-and-go-seek – Naoise, Caspian and Lucy rode outside of Beruna to the officer's barracks while Glozelle and the other guards went in through the town.

Again, Lucy was tucked away in a back room while the others went and had some fun. Only Caspian was among them this time – he was invited to meet some newly commissioned captains.

Glozelle felt some responsibility for the girl. It was his duty to keep the men away from her. Though it made him sick, Miraz liked his spoils to be unspoiled, if he so chose it. She could endure the worst sort of punishment, and she probably would.

As the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, he brought in some ale for her. He knew he would want to something to numb him if he were about to be executed.

Lucy was sitting on a bench, with her legs drawn up to her chest. Glozelle did not know how to handle females. She was not a filly he could soothe with blinders, nor a whore he could appease with some silver. Supremely uncomfortable, he paced in front of her like a, well, a general adressing his troops.

"You must be brave and face your duties calmly. This is how it is done. Deal with it."

It started small – just a few misplaced sniffles and panting. But the next thing he knew she was a bawling mess, bent over as she sobbed into her hands.

He had made a woman cry.

Shit.

"No, no, no. Th-that's not what I meant. I didn't mean to, uh…" Damn it, how did men handle upset women? He was almost thankful that he could not take a wife, seeing Lucy weep. Having no idea what he was doing, he took to one knee in front of her. His hands wavered inches away from her shoulders. This was why women could not join the military. They cried at the drop of a hat.

Well, he was about to lose her head, so maybe these tears had their place.

"Please stop crying. Please, _please _stop crying. I have no idea what to do, so, please, just stop." She looked up at him, red-eyed, teary and just a little bit splotchy. Oh well. Women could not be beautiful _all_ of the time.

"You all claim to be noble and heroic," she hiccupped as she wiped away snot (definitely not noble). "But you think problems can be solved with one-word answers and half-formed ideas. Nothing exists besides the end results."

Oh great, she was upset _and_ insane. When she did not elaborate, he let his eyes leave hers. The last thing he wanted was to be the victim of her irrationality. But as his eyes settled on her throat, he was left speechless by the bruise on her throat.

This time, Caspian had gone too far.

* * *

Caspian was on his way to comfort Lucy when all of a sudden, Glozelle had him pinned to the wall with a sword under his chin.

"I don't know what you've done, or to what extent you've done it. I will not be made a fool of. My loyalties will not be tested tonight. Whatever plans you and Lucy have, this is the only time I will hold my tongue. You may be a prince, but I am your keeper. And Miraz is king."

Glozelle left a bewildered Caspian without another word, presumably off to handle the horses. Caspian did not know whether to feel comforted or frightened. Glozelle would go along with their concoctions, but he was still a soldier of Miraz.

Because of one girl, Caspian might lose his allies.

Was she worth it?

* * *

Intrigue! Hickies! Some other stuff!

There was some more swearing in this one than usual, but I needed some adult language.

Anyways, I got to thinking about epic romances. You know, the couples that will resonate for eternity. Romeo and Juliette, Marc Antony and Cleopatra, peanut butter and jelly, Marion Ravenwood and Indiana Jones…

And then a light bulb went off.

I am so writing an Indiana Jones inspired ficlet for Lucy and Caspian.

What, it works! It'll be hot and dark, and short. I'll post it alongside the other one-shot.

You know you want it.

You know you do.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Here is chapter eleven.

What, did you expect a parade?

That's greedy.

By the way, any of you like beta reading?

* * *

The ride to Miraz's castle was awkward, uncomfortable, and just plain awful. The soldiers could sense the anxiety rolling off Lucy in waves. She kept looking towards Caspian, as if for help, but he would not even spare her a comforting glance. His eyes remained on the road ahead, dull and lifeless. He looked defeated and uncaring. Glozelle's jaw was clenched so tight, the men swore they could hear his teeth start to crack.

They could understand Lucy's trepidation. There was a strong possibility that she was about to be raped and executed. But that was all in a day's work.

It was the prince and the general that had them baffled. Glozelle looked angry as all hell, and Caspian looked flippant, as if none of this mattered. Earlier, he could not keep his hands off of the girl, and now he was acting as if she did not exist.

They all had a strange affection for Lucy… though Epaphras had a really strange affection for her.

"_She has some long legs. I wonder if they go all the way up under that skirt."_

Needless to say, they all liked her. It would be kind of sad if she died.

Then again… They might get to see a show tonight.

* * *

He would not look at her.

Why, _why_ would he not look at her?!

She needed some reassurance, even if it was from someone who might not have her best interest at heart. And he was giving her the cold shoulder.

An awful voice whispered terrible, malicious things that poisoned her mind. Maybe his help was conditional. Maybe… maybe he had been expecting more than she had given him the night before.

Lucy suddenly felt used. It was inexplicable, and probably irrational. But he seemed honest and principled.

So why was he avoiding her gaze? She was scared, and getting more scared as the castle got bigger and bigger the closer they came to it. It was an imposing stone structure, dark and foreboding. The fiery light gleaming through the windows were like the eyes of a hungry dragon, just waiting for its prey. The cawing of nesting crows only added to the ominous atmosphere.

When the drawbridge fell down over the moat, Lucy felt like Satan had just opened the mouth of hell. As the horses moved into the main courtyard, she realized she was walking right into the belly of the beast.

Everyone's stare rested on the party. There were many bows meant for Prince Caspian, and several respectful nods for General Glozelle. And then everyone was staring at her. They undressed her with their eyes, ridiculed her with sneers and spiteful whispers. Some of the younger people hovering looked confused, while a few older men ogled her lasciviously. A thick slime settled over her skin, or at least it felt like it did.

Glozelle helped her down to the ground as the other guards handled the horses. Just as she was about to thank him, he waved over two new guards, dressed identically in leather and chainmail.

"Take her to the dungeon. She's under arrest." Brutal hands wrapped around her upper arms, dragging her across the stones in the direction of a very dark doorway. She gasped and nearly tripped as they passed under the archway. Frantically, she looked over her shoulder, her eyes pleading for help.

Caspian was nowhere to be found.

* * *

He knew she was looking at him. But what was he supposed to do, to say?

'I'll sweep you off your feet, and we'll ride into the sunset?' 'There's nothing to worry about.'

There were a million things to worry about. The sun had already set. Her feet were not even touching the ground!

Worst of all, he was beginning to doubt his regard for her. She was just a girl, and she had successfully punched a prince, even after he saved her. What did that say about her? Was she frightened, or just ungrateful.

And was she worth losing what friends he had left? Dr. Cornelius had vanished, and his nurse had been sent away, presumably to care for someone else's children. Miraz told him it was because he was too old, but he knew the king thought her to be a dangerous influence. That meant he was alone, except for Glozelle. He held the general in some esteem, but he was always wondering if he was a willing participant in Miraz's schemes.

But if he lost Glozelle because of a slip of a girl, he would be alone, prey for Miraz's wolves.

As they approached the castle, the hairs on the back of his neck rose. He knew she needed support and hope, but he could not give it. For one thing, if anyone saw them sharing a look, they would suspect something. For another, he was not sure about going through with it anymore. She had driven him to lie, to possibly shame his honor, and to force himself on her. People called women like her minxes.

But… but she did not seem like one. Minxes meant to be minxes. Everything she did seemed accidental and unknowingly done.

They were in the castle now, surrounded by stacked stones and iron spikes. There were archers in the turrets, ready to aim and fire at a second's notice. The line between life and death at that moment was like brittle glass – crystal clear and dangerously fragile.

Everyone was surprised by Lucy and him. He had gone out two days before and come home with a woman. It reeked of conquest, and Lucy was the loot picked from a battlefield.

Servants swarmed around him like mosquitoes, tugging him this way and that. Before he could send them off, they had taken his dirty cloak and vest, and would have gone further had he not shooed them away. He did not have time to be their mannequin, not when he wanted to talk to Lucy.

But by the time he got back, the horses were gone, and so was Lucy.

"Where did she go?" he demanded of Glozelle as he emerged from the stables. Now it was Caspian's turn to hold someone to the wall. His hands fisted in Glozelle's shirt as he pinned the man, shielded by the shadows of the horse stalls. Glozelle was reasonably surprised. Rarely was Caspian this aggressive. "Where. Did. She. _Go_."

Glozelle's nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing at the challenge. "Jail, where she will stay until she is called for. Let go, your _highness_." Glozelle spit out that last word like a cobra releasing its poison.

That decided it.

Caspian was going to be Lucy's knight in shining armor.

* * *

They were looking at her again, through the barred little window at the top of the door. _This is what goldfish must feel like_, she thought to herself. Only goldfish had the luxury of a three-second memory. She kept replaying their leering faces in her head. What was it with these people? She did not look too different from them, what with her brown eyes and hair. In the dark they could not make out her clothes, so they could not be distracted by them.

The only thing that stuck out was the fact that she came with Caspian, their prince. However, Lucy had a sneaking suspicion that the future king was no virgin. He was admittedly handsome, and he seemed to know how to use his mouth (she wished she did not know that). He probably was allowed to practice with the laundry maids. Who knows what he got on his birthdays.

_Ew, I can't believe I just thought of that._

Unpleasant as that way, it was better than thinking about her surroundings. The cell was dark and small, a rock box with slimy walls and cold floors. And, good Lord, did it stink up something fierce. There was a pot in the corner she was deathly afraid to examine, and mice scurrying along the iron rafters. The muck and sparse décor, she could care less about. So it was a dump, big deal. She had two older brothers who were once typical boys, although Edmund was always a bit of a sissy.

What really bothered her was the quiet. Her breath was noisier than a steam engine in the small room, and it echoed off every wall. Because she was not insane (though she came close), talking to herself was not an option. And there was no way in hell she would ever converse with those lecherous guards. That meant she was alone with her racing, repetitive thoughts.

And the feet she could see under the door.

* * *

It was his castle, and he knew it well. They were old friends, and kept no secrets from one another. Caspian wove his way through the many halls and corridors, sneaking past unaware servants, soldiers and courtiers with practiced ease. It was a game of cat and mouse, and he always won, not that there was anyone else playing.

Several heartbeats and picked locks later, he was in the dungeon before two rather nervous guards. They stood quivering at attention, stiff as boards and sweating like it was boiling. He only had to give them _the look_, and they pandered to his every need. Namely, opening the door that stood between him and Lucy.

After they gave him the keys, he told then in a rather stately voice to go stand with their noses against the opposite wall. Sometimes it was good to be a prince. Quickly tossing a glance over his shoulder at the obedient and well-trained guards, he worked the lock and opened the door, bathing the small figure on the ground in light.

Lucy sat hunched against the wall, her arms locked tautly around her shins as she stared at her feet. She looked worn out and tense, like she could fall asleep at any moment, but was afraid to. Her eyes remained on her shoes as he slowly came to stand before her, and from his position above her, she looked frightened. Her fear and exhaustion worked his stomach into knots – he had done that to her. Dropping to his knees, he tucked his finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him. Her glare of defiance melted into haggard, disbelieving shock

Before he could apologize or even say her name, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He responded instantly, holding her closely. Caspian was surprised and delighted that she was hugging him, but he knew what she sought was emotional, not physical. But he would provide whatever comfort she needed.

From the corner of his eye he could see that the guards still had their noses pressed against the wall like naughty school children. When they did not look in their direction, he gave in to Lucy, sweeping his hands up and down her back in slow, soothing strokes. Her face laid against his throat, her breath passing hotly over his collarbone. He expected her to reel back and break his nose, but she only pressed herself closer to him.

He did not want to waste his breath on silly words, but there were things that needed to be said. Swallowing back his urge to murmur sweet nothings (whatever those were), he rested his cheek against her hair, his mouth moving over the crown of her head as he whispered to her.

"Miraz will call you within the hour. You will be taken to the council room through the servants hallways. Glozelle might be there, I'm not sure. But know that I will be waiting there for you. My only hope is that I can intercept Miraz first and talk to him first, that way you won't have to say anything." He drew back only far enough to see her eyes. "This will _work_. I will do everything to make it work." Caspian cupped her cheek in his hand, running his thumb over the skin beneath her eye. "I won't let you down."

Lucy bit down on her lower lip, worrying the rosy flesh with her even white teeth. "Your mouth does not need that abuse right now," he teased as he rested his forehead against hers. "I must leave for now, but don't worry." Her eyes widened in alarm as she held him even closer.

"You cannot leave me here!" she whispered fervently.

As much as he wanted to stay in her arms, to embrace her, he had to go. Somehow, he freed himself from her grasp, until only their hands were locked together.

"Whatever you do, don't antagonize Miraz. Try to answer as few questions as possible, and don't try to summon me. I can't look like your puppet."

There was nothing more to say, and he had no time to spare. After kissing her cheek and forehead, he left her, hopefully with some reassurance and warmth. The clicking of the lock as he closed the door pained him, but not as much as turning his back on her.

"Uh… sir? Can we turn around now?"

Caspian sighed.

"Fine."

* * *

I'm glad you all liked 'Standing Alone'! I have the extended version of the sex scene written, so just tell me if I should post it!

Tata for now!


	13. Chapter Twelve

Hey folks! Here's the next chapter!

* * *

As she awaited her fate, Lucy prayed harder than she had ever prayed before. It was a new sort of exhaustion, having her body strain because she dared to test her beliefs. Her family had never been particularly religious. They were faithful, to be sure, but her parents never forced their children to attend Sunday mass. The late Mrs. Pevensie even gave her children the option of not being confirmed into the church. "Faith is a choice," she told Edmund one day. "And you won't be punished for not making it." Edmund took the name of St. Thomas for his confirmation. He never again entered a house of worship, as did the other Pevensie children.

Her mother believed that faith was a choice, and for Lucy, there was no other in sight. And so she said every prayer she knew, pleading to whoever would listen; Jesus, the Blessed Virgin, her parents, River Phoenix, _anyone_. The minutes seemed like hours, trailing along at their leisure. Lucy just wanted to get it over with. If she was going to die, what was the point in waiting?

And then the door slammed against the wall, filling the room with light. A very large man stood in the doorway, his outline shadowed and massive.

"Get up."

Apparently, there was a point in waiting.

And it involved not going with that man.

It was nothing like the movies. The guards did not lead her through grand halls before gawking aristocrats. There were no trumpets, no ornately dressed judges. She was dragged through hidden, cramped hallways that were connected to kitchens, pantries and other amenities used by servants. They even passed a few sleepy laundresses and butlers, who cared not a whit for the little girl in the heavy blue blazer.

With only a single candle to guide them, they worked their way through the narrow passages like ants moving through a nest. The air was still, and the barely audible buzz of conversation passed through the walls like a dull roar. Lucy's mouth was dry, and her hands shook the closer they got to their destination. Try as she might, she could not prevent the tears that trailed down her cheeks in thin, stinging lines. She was fourteen, damn it, and could not be plucky all of the time. If the guards noticed her crying, they did not say anything. They probably did not realize it at all. Her pride prevented her bawling or sniveling. Nobody would take away her dignity, frayed as it was after bumping her head into low archways. _Crouch_, she reminded herself. _Crouch_.

Whenever she slowed down, the guards meaningfully prodded her between the shoulders. Great. Not only did her forehead hurt, she was also going too slow. Gosh, what did they want from her?

The candle was like a stop watch. As the wax melted, so did the distance to King Miraz.

In next to no time, the flame wavered and went out, leaving her to wait in the pressing darkness. The door, no bigger than a cabinet, creaked open very slowly. The light from the room spilled into the tiny corridor, and it revealed expectant expressions on the guards' faces. They looked at her, then the door, then her again. Her heart froze in her chest as she caught the gist.

She would be going in alone. They were too big to pass through to the other room. All of a sudden they were her best friends, and the only thing she wanted to do was stay with them. Nevertheless, they forcibly shoved her through the undersized gap, sending her sprawling onto a large area rug.

The cabinet entry slammed shut, disappearing into the room's woodwork as if it had never been there at all. Absentmindedly, she appreciated the carpentry that went into the paneling. At the same time, she despised these people for not wanting to see the hired help who kept the castle running.

And then it came time to face her fate. Swallowing past her tautened throat, she looked up from under her thick lashes.

She was not prepared for what she saw, not in a million years.

* * *

Caspian ran like a stag escaping a baying hound. He felt no pain, experienced no fatigue as he raced through the castle. A young girl's life depended on him, and the speed beneath his feet. There was no minute that could be wasted, no second that was not fleetingly precious. The hard heels of his riding boots clicked and squeaked with every leap he took. Around him, people and pillars and tapestries passed in a blur of color, until all he could see was whatever was right in front of him. Tunnel vision was dangerous, he had been told. Losing sight of the world meant breaking from reality.

But his Lucy was so unreal that there was no need to focus on anything but her – her black tea eyes, her perfect teeth, her ostensible contempt for him. He focused on the laughter he had yet to hear, the unguarded smile he had yet to coax from her.

And so he ran, past shocked nobility and mystified servants, ran until he was staggering into his uncle's bedroom suite; who was, to put it lightly, very busy. He was locked in an amorous embrace with Lady Prunaprismia, who shrieked when her lover's nephew walked in on their romantic rendezvous. Miraz looked ready to kill the young man with his bare hands. As the king opened his mouth to presumably shout at the top of his lungs, the words poured out of Caspian before he had a chance to catch his breath.

"I tried to rape a girl. I did. Yes. I tried to force myself on her. So, she tried to hit me. And she succeeded. But it didn't hurt at all, and it doesn't change the fact that I tried to have my way with her. She had every right to punch me. And I had no right to touch her. No right. So there's no need to punish her, none at all. Especially since she's already been shot. In fact, I should probably have that wound checked out before it gets infected. I wonder if we have the necessary herbs on hand. It would be easy enough to get them -."

"ENOUGH!" Miraz bellowed. As Caspian finally found his bearings, he was slightly sickened to see Miraz bare from the waist up, only kept decent by the blanket pooling in his lap. Because he was a gentleman, he kept his gaze steadily on Miraz. Besides, he had no desire to see Prunaprismia naked.

"Caspian, I do not care about your trysts. Not one bit. Take care of this as you see fit. Make an honorable woman out of her; buy her out, exile her, whatever. Just **get out of here, **_**NOW!**_ She's your problem. I hereby pardon her of whatever it is she did that has you in here bothering me."

"So, I have the right to appease Lucy Pevensie for all the wrongs I've done to her?"

Miraz's nostrils flared. "YES. Now go away, and don't even think about telling anyone about this."

Caspian felt light, elevated. He felt so good, he decided to push his luck.

"And what would _this_ be, Uncle? An assignation between a widow and the reigning monarch? I don't think that's too big a scandal. You're both consenting adults."

"_**GET OUT!**_"

Caspian dashed out of the room, only to run back in. Prunaprismia yelped again, dashing under the blankets. Miraz stomped towards Caspian with fire in his eyes, but the boy was too busy scribbling something on a piece of parchment. When the king raised his hand to strike his nephew, the prince held the paper and the quill. Caspian swore he saw steam coming from Miraz's nostrils as he signed the makeshift document. The instant his signature was penned, Caspian melted a stick of garnet wax, creating a small pool for Miraz to press his seal against. When the document was made official and binding, Caspian was out of the room and running once more.

Prunaprismia and Miraz barely waited for the door to close before they were back to their tryst.

They really should have waited for the door to close though, because it never did.

The widow's mewling would be the subject of gossip for many weeks to come.

* * *

There was no one. The room was empty, save for her.

"Huh?"

Peeling herself from the floor, she brushed off the seat of her pants, quirking an eyebrow around the… she wanted to call it an office. It was a sizeable room, dominated by a large, ornate table made of gleaming mahogany. Scattered over its surface were numerous maps, books and papers, along with quills and bottles of ink. A cheery fire roared in a large fireplace, casting mesmerizing shadows along the paneled walls.

And yet, there was no one there. She was alone, and it was starting to tick her off. There was no such thing as fashionably late when it came to interrogating a criminal.

"How rude," she whispered as she sat down on a leather settee, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. They expected her to wait when she did not want to be there at all? Talk about impolite!

She tapped her fingers, clicked her heels together, and sung to herself to keep herself from concentrating on her fear. At least she wasn't crying anymore, although she probably still looked red and slightly weepy. After a while, she settled on chewing on her lower lip, biting it so hard she was afraid it would bleed.

It seemed like hours passed before the main door swung open. But it was only Caspian, panting harshly as if he had run a marathon. Lucy's eyebrows rose inquisitively as he stumbled towards her, a piece of parchment clenched in his hands. When he saw her, his smile shown like the sun, brighter than the fire that warmed the room.

Caspian allowed himself to feel tired, to recover his strength. His overwhelming joy only weakened his energy further. How he managed his way to the small couch was beyond him. Still gasping for breath, he fell to his knees before her, so close that he was between her legs, the hard muscles of his stomach pressing against the cushions. He only noticed the intimacy of their position when a light blush bloomed in her cheeks.

"You're safe," he murmured as he held out the contract Miraz had unknowingly signed. Like she was accepting an engagement ring, Lucy took the deed, reading over the few scribbled lines. Caspian's penmanship was handsome and even, flowing without being too loopy and elaborate. She had nothing to compare it with, but she knew deep down that his writing was very masculine, and even princely. Somehow, she managed to contemplate the words that freed her.

_I hereby pardon Lucy Pevensie of any crimes she may have committed, and give leave to Prince Caspian to make reparations for the grievances he has done unto her. _

_Signed, _

_King Miraz._

Caspian waited as her brown eyes flitted over the small piece of paper, before settling on his own. He knew she would see happiness and relief (though she also saw something charming in those black depths). His heart swelled in his chest when she smiled at him.

"You spelled my name right." He laughed at her silly observation, not at her though, never at her. He laughed because he was so joyful, because the look in her eyes was so appreciative. It was her turn to giggle elatedly as she reached out to tuck his seal brown hair behind his ears. "You spelled my name right," she whispered delightfully as she cupped his cheeks in her palms.

Tomorrow, they would be back to their sarcastic banter, and she would not remember the affection he had for her in his eyes. Tomorrow, they would worry about what was going to happen to her, now that she was safe from death. There would be papers that needed to be drawn up, introductions to be made, plans to figure out.

But for tonight, they were dear friends. He was her protector, and she was his fair maiden. Tonight, he would relish the way she rested her forehead against his, her nose brushing against his cheek as she closed her eyes.

Tonight she was thankful.

And for tonight, she was _his_.

* * *

Well, many thanks to my beta readers. You girls make my life so much easier!

A quick note on personalities and appearances.

I know that Lucy and Caspian should both be fair-haired and blue eyed, but I'm drawing my inspiration for their appearances from the movie versions. Since movie!Edmund has dark eyes, it isn't too far a stretch for Lucy to have dark eyes as well.

As for their personalities, I'll try to stay as true to the book as possible. Lucy is kind and honest, Caspian is noble and just. But I want them to have some flaws, some more human qualities. And, fear not, Lucy will still have an amazing relationship with Aslan.

This is an AU, so there will be AU aspects to the characters, but I hope I've stayed pretty true to the characters.

Anyways, good luck and good night!


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Sorry it took so long to update. Sometimes, real life gets in the way. Also, it took forever for the reviews to pour in. I was frightened that people stopped liking this story.

Anyways, thanks to my lovely beta, Sany, for getting this to me so quickly.

Enjoy!

* * *

Caspian was no virgin, not by a long shot. He had practiced with a widowed servant when he turned fourteen. Since then, he occasionally enjoyed the company of several accomplished courtesans whenever they visited Calormen. He always chose voluptuous, dark-skinned women close to his own height, with femininely soft bellies and kohl-rimmed eyes. Because of his impatience and self-interest, he preferred more seasoned females who got the job done and left him alone. It was not that he had no respect for the women he bedded… okay, so part of it was, but more than that, they were just objects to him – a pleasurable means to an end.

But with all of his experience and talent in the bedroom, he never really understood what true intimacy was; not until he held Lucy's small hand in his own, as he guided her to his bed chamber through the unlit servants' corridors. Though he knew it was only so she could rest there while he found her a room of her own, he could not help but stroke the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. And when she intertwined her fingers with his, he felt a slight heat in his cheeks, the beginnings of a faint blush. That he found a waif-thin girl with meager curves alluring was astounding to him.

"Caspian?" He was surprised he even heard her; she spoke so softly. In the dark her grace did not translate. When he stopped to listen to her, she bumped into him and nearly fell to the ground. Quick to act and keep her from pain, he caught her nimbly, holding her against his chest. She looped her arms around his neck, unsteady on her feet. But when she found her balance, she did not let go. Rather, she uncoiled her arms from his shoulders, only to wind them around his waist. For the second time that night, she embraced him. "Thank you," she whispered into his chest. Drawing a deep breath, he licked his dry lips and laid one hand over the small of her back, the other curved along the line of her jaw.

Glozelle was wrong. He had to have been. Who else but a nymph could be bewitching in her loveliness, without being stunningly gorgeous? Lucy had a soft, quiet sort of beauty that was entirely unnoticeable in a crowd. Staring was the only way to appreciate just how pretty she was. And Caspian was having no problems being appreciative.

It must have been the spell woven around them, but some invisible force had him bending forward. One kiss was a step in the right direction. Other young dukes and counts stole kisses from their maids, and even other female courtiers, so what was the problem in taking one from Lucy? She owed him her life! And he had been told he was very good with his mouth.

Sadly, he forgot just how much smaller she was than him. Before he could even get near her lips, his nose brushed against the crown of her head.

Caspian, Crown Prince of Narnia, sneezed all over Lucy's hair.

A simple "you're welcome" would have been fine. Instead, she got a face full of snot. Her cheeks burned in humiliation, but not as hot as the skin of Caspian's throat.

Well, at least he was mortified too.

He wanted to _die_. There was nothing he wanted more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. What a great way to impress a girl! Instead of buying her flowers or singing her sonnets, get boogers in her pretty brown mane. To top it off, shoot her with an arrow, and threaten her with execution.

But Lucy had more grace and civility than to let him die of shame. He did not mean to sniffle against her forehead, and if he did, she would just smack the shit out of him. Forcing a smile that she knew he could not see, she took a deep breath and tipped her head back. She rose onto the balls of her feet, and did what her mother did whenever her father was feeling down.

She kissed him.

It was nothing serious or sensual. However, there, in the dark, her mouth pressed against his for a moment that passed far too quickly. There were no fireworks, no odd squelching noises, none of that stuff that she saw in the movies. And he was too surprised to do anything but gasp. At least he was now shocked instead of ashamed.

"Can I go take a bath?" She was surprised to find her voice hushed and uneven. The kiss meant nothing to her. It just seemed like a good idea at the time, like he needed the distraction. But when he said nothing, Lucy's stomach knotted and twisted. Shyness started to make her eyes itch with unshed tears. Kissing the boy who had just sniffled on her only added insult to injury.

Caspian, on the other hand, was floating between shocked and ecstatic. If Lucy thought that counted as a kiss, then she needed some serious schooling. But he could not even breathe, let alone move towards her. She had taken the next step in their relationship. Well, at least she hoped she had. As velvety and warm as her lips were, there was no real emotion to be found in them. It was simultaneously disheartening and encouraging. Even if she had kissed him just to kiss him, she was obviously not repulsed by the _idea _of kissing him.

His mind made up, he leaned forward to tell her 'you're welcome', even though speech escaped him. But he found nothing but air.

Lucy, in her attempts to escape an uncomfortable situation, proceeded forward without any sense of direction. But, because she was so flustered and self-conscious, she forgot there were very low archways that were lethal in the dark.

Caspian heard her bump her head with a solid 'thwock' that had him wincing.

"Mother fucker!"

For a sweet girl, she certainly had the mouth of a sailor

* * *

Degrading as it was, he had to hold her hand as they slowly walked through the labyrinth of tunnels. Not only was she as blind as a bat, but now her forehead was stinging from the force of her impact. Really, why were the passages so small? Was the architect of the castle inspired by an art farm? Or did the king love punishing his servants? Caspian certainly seemed to get a kick out of her misfortunes (though, in reality, he was just kicking himself).

As much as it irked her, she had to cling to his arm to keep from falling behind, or worse, getting smacked in the face again. It was just as bad for Caspian as it was for her. He was blushing so badly even his ears were warm. And the way her modestly curved chest pressed into his bicep was not helping. He could feel her hair rustle against his shoulder every time they had to duck down.

Maybe it was sheer dumb luck or a miracle, but they made it to his room without any further injury, physical and emotional. Treating her like she was made of glass, he guided her through the small cubbyhole. In the moonlight, she looked like some irritated, teary sprite – ethereal and pissed. Her brown eyes were frighteningly intense and angry, wise beyond their years. A question that had been lingering in the back of his head spilled free before he could restrain himself.

"How old are you?" Her brows rose thoughtfully, matching her confused, considering frown. To think that she had kissed him with that mouth!

"Fourteen." So, she was only a year older than that tubby wench, Prunella? Impossible! Suddenly, she was tall for her age, though the top of her head did not even reach his chin. Other girls her age were rosy-cheeked and pouty as they outgrew their baby fat, if they outgrew it at all. Skinny and underdeveloped as she was, he thought her to be at least sixteen, if not eighteen. Now he knew why she still had her childish wonderment.

"Are you poor?" It was a reasonable enough question, but, for some reason, her mouth parted slightly as her eyes widened in her pale face.

"No! Why the hell did you ask that?" He slowly walked around her, like a vulture circling in the sky above its lifeless prey.

"Then why are you so, so… emaciated?" Wrong choice of words, but there were no others that were appropriate enough.

"Because I'm not some fat, lazy housecat. Do you have a problem with that?" Arms akimbo, her hands were planted on her hips. She was adorable in her petite, spitfire glory.

"Absolutely not," he replied, flinching at how winsome he sounded. He might as well tell her he found her to be fetchingly trim, like some pure white swan.

_I must be crazy, to be over the moon about a little wisp of a girl_, he thought to himself as he set a fire in the stone hearth. The yellow glow of the flames revealed to Lucy a Tudor suite of dark wood and green velvet. It was a room as unkempt and masculine as Caspian. However, it was humble and worn in, instead of self-indulgent. There was a bookcase and a small writing table, a leather sofa, and a bronze telescope. The ground was littered with stray articles of clothing and balled up pieces of paper. The untidiness did not surprise her, but the artistry did. The four-poster bed was massive, every inch of it carved and polished. On the headboard, she could see pheasants and hounds. The bedcover was hunter green, and the edges were embroidered with gold leaves and vines. The pillows were obviously down, perfect for diving into.

"What a lovely room," she said wistfully before she could help herself. She felt like an urchin in Queen Elizabeth's royal chambers. Catching sight of a coat rack, she took off her school blazer and hung it up. When she sat down, Caspian knelt before her, helping her to take off her slightly muddy oxford shoes. The laces confused him for a moment, but he had them figured out with relative quickness. Lucy would have taken them off herself, but she was afraid of trailing dirt on the rug beneath her feet.

Caspian was staring at her chest, and, strangely enough, he was scowling. On the rare occasions that men did stare at her body, they did not scowl. His flinty appearance had her frowning in equal parts confusion and discomfiture. Maybe he did not like what he saw? He _did_ say she was skinny.

Then, his dark hand reached out towards her, and, for one startling moment, she thought he was going to actually touch her breasts. But his fingers strayed towards her collarbone, lightly trailing the arched bone. The catch of calluses had her hissing as they scraped along something painful, and when he pulled back, she could see his fingertips were stained red.

The arrow!

The sting returned now that she had the presence of mind to remember the wound. It was not a crippling ache, but she could not move without stretching the raw seam.

"I don't want to see a doctor," she said hurriedly when his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle leapt in his cheek. "I really don't want to see one right now." His expression gentled as he stared at her in perplexity.

"It needs to be treated. It could get infected." Any other girl would be thrilled to see the royal physician. But Caspian knew she was not any other girl, and would be unimpressed with his efforts to keep her healthy. His eyes narrowed as she smiled widely. So she thought she could deceive him into thinking she was fine? Not a chance.

"I don't need a doctor," she said a little more firmly.

So she did not need a doctor?

Fine.

He would bind the cut himself.

* * *

Anyways, that is chapter fourteen. Please, think of the poor authoress as you read this little tale. I love me some reviews.

Good night, and good luck!


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Okay, here is the next chapter. I'm not very proud of it because it's filler, but one of my betas made me feel slightly better about it.

"And it doesn't suck, really!

This filler chapter seems more like a one-shot of the quiet development of Lucy/Caspian's relationship though, rather than a direct continuation of the series. But being that it is a filler, it serves its purpose well."

Well, here it is!

* * *

Her reason for not wanting a doctor made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Back in her home, it would not have been a problem. But here, in this strange, sexist, antiquated society, it made all the difference in the world.

She did not want to take off her shirt again.

Back in merry old England, at St. George's, the on-campus doctor was a woman. During Lucy's yearly check-up, the rotund Indian woman would poke and prod her in many unmentionable places, sticking cold metal where it did not really belong. It was somewhat uncomfortable, but she really had no problem with it. Without a mother of her own, she relied on the reassuring words and motherly wisdom of Dr. Patel. There was no way she could go to Susan, who was just a little too knowledgeable.

_"Want me to show you how it works? I've got a banana in the kitchen."_

By protection, Lucy had not meant condoms.

And so, being naked from the waist up during a physical exam was nothing new to her. But Lucy suspected that the brand of medicine in Narnia required a stick to bite down on. A few of the guards had ragged scars that looked like they had been stitched close with dirty yarn. Lucy was not prone to silly vanity, but having such an ugly mark on her shoulder sent a shiver of fear up her spine.

Thus, she would just have to deal with the pain, and the threat of infection. There was no way in hell some stranger was going to get anywhere near her with a rusty needle.

It was a good thing that Caspian was just strange, and not a stranger. If she knew the direction his thoughts were taking, she would have run screaming for the hills. She would probably get lost to boot, and then where would they be?

He shoved away from her with a tense frown. Like an unhappy lion, he stalked away from (**her)**, rifling through a chest at the foot of that lovely bed. Lucy would never admit it, but her spot on the couch gave her a lovely view of his back. Caspian had a lean look about him. The line of his shoulders was good and strong, but he had a slender sort of grace. He reminded her of a footballer instead of a rugby player. If there was ever a set of arms she could fall into, his certainly fit the bill.

_Good Lord, where did that thought come from?_

Like some eager, needy puppy, he returned to her feet, a small silver tin held out in his palms like some offering for the gods. But his expression was far from humble and worshipful. It was victorious and determined, like he had already won some battle without setting foot on the field.

"Take your shirt off."

So much for getting around that.

* * *

He really hated himself for liking the way her mouth fell open in shock. He hated himself even more for finding her surprised gasp adorable. She seemed so indignant, and he had yet to actually do anything!

Just as he suspected, she vehemently said no, and called him something he could not repeat in polite company. She called him a pervert (which had no effect on him), a bastard (this was partially true), and told him to shove that tin where it did not belong. But even through her insults and disgracefully foul language, he remained calm, unwavering, and ever concerned about her health.

While she stammered and glowered, he left her side once more, but only for a brief moment. When he returned from his wardrobe, he had a viable solution to her bashfulness and his need to play nurse. Salvation came in the form of a shirt.

"It's big enough that it'll hang off your shoulders. I don't need to see all of your skin." _Though I think I want to. _"Just the cut."

There was still a hint of her lack of faith of him in her pouty expression. He thought she was going to say no again, but she reached out to carefully finger the hem of the thin fabric. Out of respect for her silken skin, he picked his favorite cotton pullover, the one he always slept in.

"And I promise not to look." _Though I definitely want to._

To his delight, she accepted her fate with a sigh of resignation and the faintest of blushes (though it might have been the rosy glow from the fire). She was no longer some teeny girl pushing adulthood, but she certainly felt that way as he helped her to stand, his fingers wrapped around her slender wrists. Shirt in hand, she brushed past him, looking pointedly over her shoulder. He took the hint, and busied himself with the pitcher and bowl kept on the mantle. It was hard to focus on filling the earthenware jug, when he could hear the rustling of her clothing in the background.

_Note to self, go out sometime this week, get drunk, and sleep with the first attractive female I come across. Another note to self – get said attractive female so drunk she won't realize who she's sleeping with._

Lucy cleared her throat purposefully, signaling that he should turn. He did, and was momentarily struck breathless by the sight of her in the too-large shift. It swished playfully around her thighs, and the cuffs nearly swallowed her fingers asthe sleeves were so long. Indeed, with the collar's drawstring let slack, it hung neatly off her shoulder. Her bare collarbone briefly distracted him from the quick, red gash; but when he focused on the raw, torn seam, she had only a second to rest before he was herding her back to the couch with his hand at the small of her back.

Pitcher and vessel retrieved, he soaked a clean towel, wincing as the hot water burned his fingers. As much as he wanted to shield her from the sting, hot water helped fend off infection.

He did not know he could be quite as gentle as he carefully pressed the white cloth to the slightly ragged edges of the slash. She handled the ache and blood better than many of Glozelle's soldiers; the only thing betraying her pain was her slightly furrowed brow. He did all of the wincing for her.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am." _For all of this._

When the incision was an angry shade of red and free of dirt, he opened the small silver tin of ointment. It was a thick, green paste, and smelled of menthol and other herbs.

"This is going to burn," he warned her regretfully as he dipped his fingers in to the salve. Her smile of encouragement did nothing to alleviate the feeling of dread churning his stomach into knots. Before Dr. Cornelius's departure, he had given Caspian the small jar, informing him of the balm's soothing qualities. It was so thick nothing could penetrate it, from dirt to infection, even air.

His fingers could not risk the slightest trembling as he coated the cut, pressing it into the gaping flesh. Lucy hissed and chewed on her lower lip, but she did not cry out or weep like other females. But even though she had a graceful figure and beauty of courtier, Caspian knew she was not prone to tears.

"Caspian?" Her voice quivered slightly, but other than that, her tone was remarkably resilient.

"Yes?"

"What's your favorite color?"

The question startled him so much that he had to stop and peer up at her. She stared right back, her expression black and emotionless, save for the curious sheen of her eyes.

"Um… I guess I would have to say navy blue. Yours?"

"Purple."

While Caspian pretended to be a doctor, and Lucy pretended to be tough, they finally started to get to know one another. Caspian learned that Lucy had three siblings, and Lucy came to know some of Caspian's attendants. He had two wolfhounds – one white, one grey, both very shaggy, and affectionate when they should have been fierce. Lucy loved books, and Caspian promised to show her the library. They had in common a love for horses. In his mind, Caspian saw himself taking a pleasant stroll atop Destrier, side by side with Lucy riding Doris the mare.

They talked of silly things that held little importance. Lucy kept quiet on anything regarding royalty, and Caspian was careful not to ask her of her home. They knew the moment they started on serious questions, their pleasant banter would turn into an interrogation.

Though they were only aware of each other, there were other conversations taking place.

* * *

"The prince has a lady in his chambers. She's a young thing for sure."

"Usually he doesn't bring them in there!"

The life of a palace servant was anything but boring. They had lives and families outside the castle walls, but within the royal family's fortress, they formed their own shadow kingdom, with their own elaborate hierarchical system. Gossip was the preferred currency, and the reward for listening was a chance to advance your position. For a rather juicy tidbit, a laundress could become a seamstress. A scullery maid could exchange dishwashing for baking, that sort of thing.

But, mostly, they gossiped because they had nothing better to do.

The two maids lingering outside of Caspian's room were neither bright nor beautiful, so they were of little importance to him. Though they did his laundry every day, he did not know their names. But they knew everything about him. Well, at least his bedroom; his scent, the inseam of his pants, the soaps he used, everything superficial. Sometimes they picked through his drawers, looking for diaries or love letters. The prince was too impatient to spend his time writing flowery prose, so they had to settle on listening through the door.

The maiden the young prince was talking to sounded sweet-natured and straight to the point. They could not hear what was being said, but their minds were spinning webs of sonnets and sweet nothings. They would be the toast of the kitchen tomorrow when they told the help of the young woman their prince was courting. But their words would have nothing on what was actually occurring just behind the bedroom doors.

* * *

They would share a bed that night.

But only because they could not agree on who got the couch.

It started simply enough. Caspian graciously offered to do the gentlemanly thing and let the lady sleep in comfort. But Lucy reasoned that he had been more than chivalrous, and had to wake up earlier than he did. Caspian pointed out her wounded shoulder, and the mess she would be in the next morning. It went back and forth like this for nearly fifteen minutes before they decided that the mattress was large enough to fit the two of them. He would sleep on the blanket, whereas she would beneath it. The spare pillows would be used to build a fence between them.

As he often did, Caspian slept in his breeches and undershirt; Lucy slept in the pullover he had lent her. The fire had diminished to cheerily glowing embers, leaving them in near darkness. Lucy was on her side with her back to him. He could see the outline of her trim waist in the moon's mere light. It was odd, to say the least. She was in his clothes, she smelled like him because of the salve, and she was in his bed. He hadn't even touched her, let alone seduced her. But there she was, close enough that he could reach and trace pearl necklace line of her spine.

"I've never met anyone like you." He was not sure if he meant to say that out loud, but once it was out in the open, he felt lighter, like he had just released some awful secret. He wondered if she had fallen asleep.

"What's your favorite food?" His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline as she turned to look at him. He could barely make out the shadows below her cheekbones, but he could _feel_ her tremulous smile.

"Fresh bread," he replied with a grin. "You?"

"Strawberries with cream." The pillows between might as well have not been there as they leaned towards each other to whisper conspiratorially. If the maids had half a brain, they would peek through the keyhole.

But their stupidity afforded Lucy and Caspian all the privacy in the world, giving them the time they needed to try out their new friendship.

* * *

As always, review!


	16. Chapter Fifteen

_In that long ago dream, in an ocean wide with mystery, my heart beat with fear and joy all mixed. But odd to say, I knew this dreamscape. Dreams are strangely familiar places. They're not all the land of make believe, but rather the home on the inside of yourself, like the lining of your favorite coat. Or the sweet kernel inside the hardest nut, that only the jaws of my Nutcracker Prince could reveal to me._

* * *

On her ninth birthday, all Lucy wanted to do was go to the London Zoo, the oldest zoo in the whole world. It had over seven hundred species, and more than sixteen _thousand_ animals for the public's viewing pleasure. It was a little girl's dream. She would go walking through the coral reef in the aquarium, marvel over serpents in the reptile house, and, more importantly, have her mother all to herself. That was only other thing she wanted – to spend the morning with her mother. They would meet up with the rest of the Pevensie brood at the "Into Africa" area, where they would all marvel over a Rothschild giraffe.

She remembered that wonderful excursion as if it were yesterday. She was in her favorite sun dress – the white one with the pink and brown polka dots. They had just arrived taken the taken the subway to Camden Town, after a heavenly pancake breakfast, where they ate more than they should have. The oldest Pevensie girl, and the youngest, were enjoying themselves immensely. This was better than presents; this was a memory that would never escape her.

However, it was not one she thought she would ever return to. But there she was, side by side with her mother. Only, she was not nine; she was fourteen.

And this was not dreary old London. This was a golden forest with emerald leaves and silken blossoms. The breeze was honey sweet, and carried on it a wordless, tinkling chorus. And her mother, her beloved mother, was lovelier than the most intoxicating muse. Her skin was as smooth and flawless as polished ivory, her hair a glossy, raven waterfall cascading down her back. Why had she not seen it before? Her mother's face had always been love and home, but never beauty. Yet here she was, resplendent in a gown of plum velvet and silver embroidery.

_This is a dream._

Lucy should have wanted to weep with joy or sorrow, but her mother's gentle smile was a balm to the years of loneliness. No longer was she an orphan a thousand miles from happiness. She was with her Mummy, and everything would be okay.

"Darling, we won't see all of the animals if we dawdle!" The words were the same and yet so different. What was once a reprimand was now a lullaby, a request to come out and play. Like she did on that precious day, Lucy took her mother's hand as they strolled by the exhibits. But there were no bars, no concrete. Lucy felt that she was surrounded by her dearest friends, and, in a way, she was. The animals did not behave like animals. They waved and smiled, chattered with their families; a few even berated their children for not completing their chores.

"This is Mr. and Mrs. Beaver," Lucy's mother told her in the same voice she did before. Only now, the beavers waved cheerily as they tended to their damn. Before, at the zoo, they did nothing but paddle and chew on wood. Mrs. Beaver smiled charmingly at the youngest Pevensie, her little paws clasped over her heart.

"She's so cute," she told her furry husband, who nodded his agreement with a fatherly grin.

Lucy and her mother were not the only humans meandering through the trees. There were people from her world, but they did not appear as themselves. Several students from her school were dressed as her childhood toys, of all things. Marjorie Preston, the only girl she could really call her friend, wore the pink day dress and frilly apron of her favorite rag doll. As she walked, she scattered rainbow sprinkles for the chicks that gathered around her feet, who happened to be gossiping about shoes. It was perfectly sensible chat for them, as they stood eye to eye with people's ankles.

Fairies with rose petal wings whizzed through the air, engaged in a rather rigorous game of football. They used spider webs for nets, a blueberry for a ball, and a mourning dove for a referee! He seemed to be rather ineffective, however, as his eye was always on a rather flirtatious sparrow.

Even her siblings were there. Edmund was dressed as one of his old Hessian toy soldiers, complete with tall, fur hat. On either arm, he had a giggling blonde beauty, dressed in identical harlequin carnival gowns and masks. They seemed rather bewitched, bothered and bewildered as he recited a sugar cookie recipe to them. _Silly girls_, she thought to herself, _in love just because of a few sweet words._

Beautiful, elegant Susan was dressed as Leonardo da Vinci's greatest work. Lucy was not sure at first; she just thought her older sister was dressed as some Renaissance beauty. But when she listened to the song of a nearby raven, there was no mistaking the woman Susan was pretending to be.

"_Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa,  
Men have named you.  
You're so like the lady with the mystic smile.  
Is it only 'cause you're lonely,  
They have blamed you,  
For that Mona Lisa strangeness in your smile?_

_Do you smile to tempt a lover, Mona Lisa?  
Or is this your way to hide a broken heart?  
Many dreams have been brought to your doorstep.  
They just lie there,  
And they die there._

_Are you warm, are you real,  
Mona Lisa?  
Or just a cold and lonely,  
Lovely work of art?"_

The deep, seductive crooning of the bird had Susan blushing, but like Mona Lisa's smile, the reason behind it was unknown. Lucy could not tell if it was out of shame or bashfulness. Maybe the crow's song hit too close to home?

"His name is Raven of Ravenscaur," her mother told her as she pointed at the bird in performance.

Then there was Peter, who was too grown up to wear an impractical costume. He wore his army greens and combat boots, but the tough guy image was ruined by the oversized lollipop he was attempting to finish.

"See that bunny?" Lucy looked at the hare her mother spoke of. He was meticulously grooming his whiskers with shaving cream and a barber's razor. "His name is Camillo. And that badger over there? His name is Trufflehunter."

And so they went along, Lucy and her mother, having the same conversation they did on Lucy's ninth birthday. There was Hogglestock the hedgehog, Patterwig the Squirrel, Clodsley Shovel the mole… They were characters as near and dear to her as her own siblings, for they were the creations of her mother, made to entertain a young girl on her first visit to the zoo. Just as she imagined, Reepicheek the mouse was all pomp and circumstance, just a little bit foppish, and very dashing in his chivalry. When Lucy's mother listed the many peculiar names, Lucy thought them to be silly and romantic; and their fantasy actors were no different.

The dream of this cherished memory was like summer wine – sweet, heady, and dizzying in its intoxication. The world around her was a whirl of colors, sounds and fragrances, until it blended beyond sifting. Every aspect of this vision was tied together, nothing could exist on its own or be untangled.

But like that day at the zoo, the change of weather brought it to an end. Gathering rain clouds eventually chased the Pevensie family to their car, but not before Lucy and her mother saw one last exhibit. In the delectable reverie, rain clouds were replaced with a cold breeze, the setting sun, and the gathering stars in the night sky. The animals, funny names and all, returned to their cozy dens. The humans in disguise disappeared into the woods, their voices little more than the remnants of a whisper.

Eventually, it was just Lucy and Mrs. Pevensie walking through the forest. The mother and daughter watched in wonder as a light snow began to fall. The icy sparkles coated everything in a fine dusting of white powder. The vibrant, rich colors of the day faded to the muted shades of a winter's night. But it was not cold. Rather, it just sensational; Lucy felt the starlight on her skin, and heard each swirling snowflake as it descended to the ground.

"One more exhibit, my love."

Lucy knew which one was next. It was the one she had looked forward to all day, the last candle she would blow out on her birthday. From a coward to a king, this animal was her favorite.

Her relishing gasp was matched only by her mother's chiming laugh.

"Lucy, I would like you to meet _Aslan_." There he was. The king of all beasts, crowned with a golden mane. He stared serenely at the Pevensie women, considering them with a regally arched brow. Back then, Lucy thought he was about to eat her, and now was no different. But at least at the zoo, there was a fence separating the formidable big cat from the gawking humans. Here, there was nothing but a few snowy crystals.

"Alright Lucy, that's enough. I have to go find your father." At that, Lucy almost did cry. She was going to see her father, the one man who would always have her heart. But as she turned around, there was no one. Her mother was gone, and there was only one set of footprints. They were too small for her mother's feet.

Which meant Lucy was alone.

With Aslan.

The lion.

_Wait…_

_The book!_

Lucy spun on her heel, nearly tripping over her own toes. But the lion was gone too! The only sign of him were large, feline paw prints moving away from her. There were too many questions that only he could answer. She had no other choice but to follow the map his claws left for her.

Moving through this part of the woods was trickier. The trees were so close that she felt they were whispering to each other. Their mighty branches blocked out the stars, and trapped the icy wind, chilling Lucy to the bone. It was as if she was being swallowed by the murky depths of the ocean, where hungry sharks awaited her. This must have been what her heart looked like after her parents' death. It was too much for her. Her whimsical dream had the beginnings of a nightmare. Lucy's plucky nature could only take so much. This situation called for flight, not fight. And so she ran, away from the lion's path. Off in the distance was a glimmer of light that was far more inviting than any foot print; her questions could be asked later.

Her legs did not ache, and her heart beat was normal, but she still felt the need to slow down. Once her brain focused on something other than that shadowy forest path, things got brighter in every sense. The trees thinned until she could see the sky again. It was a cloudless night, illuminated by a million stars. The light from the moon seemed to make the snow around her glimmer like diamonds.

How odd this fanciful illusion was. She had always been a dreamer, but, until now, did not the depths of her own imagination. In her sleep, she had taken a much-loved memory and turned it into an absurd phantasm, only to have it disappear into a woodland of fiendish fancy. Just when things could not weirder, her dreamscape turned into a silvery realm of fresh snow and trees like chocolate sculptures.

Feeling much safer, and more at home in this powdered sugar locale than she ever did at St. George's. Gazing between the pine trees, a clear patch of blue ground caught her eye. It was free of snow, but also free of grass. From a distance, it looked a smooth patch of granite, nothing of significance. But oddly enough, the lion's tracks had reappeared, and led straight to it.

She felt much more comfortable out in the open than she did in the wooded area, so she picked up the trail once more. The snow covered ground gradually sloped down, until it was level with what turned out to be a pond. Its frozen surface was as smooth and blue as cut sapphire. Yet, the lake's beauty was not as captivating as the person standing atop it.

It was Caspian, wearing nothing but a loose linen shirt tucked into ivory colored breeches so form fitting that no muscle was hidden from her. They were tucked into boots the color of caramel that slouched just beneath his knees. He was clean shaven, and his hair looked so soft and thick that she was jealous of it.

While his very odd costume was surprising in its own right, the fact that he was hygienic to the point of vanity was more astounding. In the few days they knew each other, he was always a bit careless with his appearance. He was not slovenly, but he was not well-groomed either. So his state of cleanliness was delightful in its difference.

After staring at him for a few minutes, Lucy deduced that he was either dressed as Romeo (as his pants were as tight as leggings), or some other romantic figure.

"Will you dance with me?"

Lucy gasped, ashamed that he caught her staring.

"The ice isn't cold at all, so your bare feet won't suffer."

_Bare feet?_

Her curiosity piqued, she stepped onto the ice, peering down the mirror surface. Indeed, she was barefoot. And that was not the half of it.

The girl reflected in the ice was wearing Mrs. Pevensie's favorite dress; the periwinkle one made of body-skimming gossamer silk. The skirt swished playfully around her knees, sheer enough that she could see the lean outline of her legs. Her mother had worn it that day at the zoo. Lucy did not look as fair as her late mother. Rather, she looked like a girl playing dress up.

"Why would I be dressed this way?" The rhetorical question was meant for her alone, but Caspian supplied an unexpectedly informative answer.

"It's a masque, you see – an allegory. It's a chance for people to be their true selves. A costume allows for amazing freedom. We can be whoever we want in a costume, without lying about who we really are."

Lucy marveled over his relative state of undress. "I suppose your true self is a nudist," she laughed airily as she glided onto the ice. Just as he said, it was not too cold. It was smooth enough that she could effortlessly glide to and fro, even without shoes or skates. It reminded Lucy of the races she used to have with her siblings. After their mother polished the wood floors, they would put on their socks and skate around as if they were on an ice rink. It must have been the same principle in her dream.

"Maybe!" He chuckled slightly as he slid alongside her. "In these clothes, I am not a prince. In these clothes, I'd be able to pursue you, were you not a nymph."

_Nymph?_ It was such a simple word, but it made her blush in all its implications.

"Always the nymph, never the goddess." The mournful lilt of that statement surprised her. While she would never be as beautiful as Susan, she was not one to put herself down. However, there was no comparing the two of them in the mirror.

"Why would I go for some intangible being in the sky, when before me stands a lady as exquisite as every star in the heavens? Goddesses are not meant for mortal hands, and I am very much human."

They came to stop in the middle of the lake. Lucy looked down at her reflection in the ice. The girl staring back at her was luminous; and the wild quality that had once defined her, defined her again.

"But you said you would only pursue me if I _weren't_ a nymph." She looked up at the boy prince who was very much a man, no matter how childish he acted. In the literal sense, Caspian was the man of her dreams. She was dreaming, and he just happened to be there. But here he was, standing there, loving her. Whether or not he should. This was the childhood ideal of every girl, to have a knight in shining armor. But her prince had let his guard down, baring himself to her, and that made for a truly magnificent dream. He was the Robin Hood to her Maid Marian.

_It's just a dream,_ she told herself. _Since it's just a dream, and since this is a masque, I can be the girl I've always wanted to be._

His mouth relaxed into a genuine smile, but his eyes were intensely serious. "If you promise to be human," he murmured, "I promise to pursue you."

The clenching feeling in her stomach, proved that she was very human, and very female.

"I promise to be human."

It was the magic word that opened a world of dreamy possibilities. Caspian let out a sigh of relief, as if his life depended on her answer. None of it was real, not even her feelings for Caspian, but the dream made it seem so. At least, she thought it was the dream.

Her belief in reality gave her the courage to move away from it. She would still be a realist when she woke up, so there was no harm in pretending she was not.

With a coy sort of confidence, she placed her palms flat against his hard chest. He stared down at her hands in wonder, confused by their presence, but it was not long before his hands found her waist.

Therefore, because he was there, and the most handsome man she had ever met, she rose up onto the tips of her toes, and kissed him. She felt his momentary shock, but then his mouth moved strongly over hers. His breath replaced her own as he coaxed her lips to part. There was no reason to be modest or tentative. It was a dream! She could be as brazen as she liked. For that reason, she draped her arms about his shoulders, letting him support most of her weight.

After what seemed like less than a second, they drew apart, breathing heavily as they peered to each other's eyes.

"This is a dream," he said rather hoarsely.

She answered with a slight smile. "Then it is a good dream."

From the shadows, a pair of amber eyes watched in astonishment as the young lovers embraced. He had not planned for that to happen.

"Do you have to wake up?" Caspian asked her sadly as they drew apart. Lucy nodded and grinned brightly.

"I do, but this was fun while it lasted."

He tried smiling, but it fell far too quickly. It seemed even in dreams, Caspian was sullen. With some finality, she closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. She felt her cavalier's arms slide away from her, but not before he pressed her lips to her forehead.

"You still owe me that dance."

Then the flimsy dream of that candy floss world faded away, until she was back in her own bed, unknowingly smiling as she snuggled into her pillow.

Her soft, girlish sigh awoke Caspian. His eyes blearily looked around his darkened room, eventually falling on Lucy. She looked completely different in the dark of night.

"What an unusual dream," Caspian whispered to her before falling back asleep.

* * *

_In the language of this dream, in that palace of delight, we spoke with our whole selves. We dream talked with hands and feet, and quick danced out our mousey Christmas tale. And they joined us, in a celebration in that palace by the sea. And my tall, Nutcracker Cavalier had eyes only for me. For at least as that dream could be. _

* * *

And there you have it, folks! Remember that second one-shot? I decided on including it in the story, without really including it. Hence, the dream! And yes, there was a lot of foreshadowing in this chapter. I'm talking oodles of plot bunnies.

Now, the quotes at the beginning and end of the story are from my favorite version of the Nutcracker. Yeah, I get it, that's a Christmas story, but there are few bars of music transitioning the _Battle_ scene, to_ In the Pine Forest_, that just sound like Lucy and Caspian. There's just something magical about that scene. I love it so much that I used it for the meeting between dream Lucy and Caspian. The costumes have changed a little bit, but it's the same principle of wonder.

If you want to watch it, go to YouTube, and copy "PNB Nutcracker "The Motion Picture" - PINE FOREST" into the search bar. Even if you're not a big ballet fan, it's still a pretty scene.

I also quoted a line in a song from 'The Sound of Music'.

Ten imaginary dollars to anyone who can find it!

Anyways, I've decided to dedicate this chapter to Taerliwren. She wanted to see Caspian do something… not necessarily naughty, but not completely within boundaries either. I'm not sure if I can do that in the original story, but this is another filler chapter, however important to the plot it actually is. And trust me, it's important, as is their interaction with one another. But it still gave me the opportunity to have them kiss .

Okay people, you know the drill. Review to your heart's content. This story is on seventy-eight alert lists! Theoretically, I should be getting that many reviews, bwuhaha.

Also, I need to take a quick poll, with a purpose will be revealed later.

How many of you prefer book Lucy and Caspian, to movie Lucy and Caspian?

Love and peace, doves and geese,  
Kagura


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Alright, folks, here is the next chapter.

I know that the wait between chapters is obscene, but I'm going to be honest.

This chapter was hard to write. It was a blend of scheduling issues, the Olympics, Michael Phelp's sweet ass, and a total lack of inspiration.

Here we go!

* * *

Miraz liked order. He liked a steady cadence; a place for everything, and everything in its place. As long as things remained perfectly arranged, he was content. For precise organization required constant attention and effort. With everyone around him focused on maintaining a rigorous routine, his actions could be easily overlooked. While silverware was being placed on the table, deals could be made under it.

Of course, Miraz's almost unattainable standards drove everyone in the castle crazy. Everything was timed and planned to the tooth. The to-do list hung over the servants' heads like an executioner's ax. And as the sun rose over Narnia (just as scheduled), the castle came alive. In the kitchen breakfast was being made by grumbling chefs and yawning scullery maids. Governesses bustled about their charges' bedrooms, tugging sleepy children out of bed whether they liked it or not. Curtains were pulled open, dogs were let out to do their doggy business, and Miraz quietly dismissed Prunaprismia.

But in a room somewhat out of the way, two very different people carelessly disregarded Miraz's need for constant control.

They slept in.

Were the maids smart enough to pick the lock, the sight that would greet them would be oh so cute after the shock wore off. Amongst the rumpled blankets and twisted pillows lay the prince and his bonnie lass, and they were _spooning_. To the unknowing eye, it was devious and erotic, but in reality, it was perfectly sweet and innocent. Lucy slept with her back pressed against Caspian's broad, firm chest, while the prince's arm was draped loosely over her waist, his cheek against her pale throat.

For the most part, neither of them seemed to mind nestling together. In some ways, it was very wrong. Lucy was still a child in many ways, and Caspian was as old as Peter. They had just met, and their friendship was still in the trial stages. But more than anything, it was considerate and unintentional. To be sure, Caspian enjoyed immensely it (though he was unaware of it), and even Lucy took pleasure in being held through the night. It was affectionate, not raw or passionate.

When the sun's light crept in through the window, Caspian's brow furrowed glumly. He had forgotten to draw the curtains the night before, leaving them unprotected against the dawn. Yet even with the morning's unwelcome entrance, Caspian was not ready to wake up. Usually, he went from asleep to alert in less than a minute. It was part of being young and energetic. So, waking up languidly was new and a little disconcerting. His limbs felt like they were tied with chains, and his eyes must have been stitched together. But he was perfectly warm and drowsy, almost pleasantly exhausted. He had not been lethargic in the morning since he was little.

As he turned his face towards the softness beneath his cheek, he was roused by a soft, feminine moan. That was _not_ a sound he usually heard in his bedroom, not that it was unwelcome by any means. Caspian rolled onto his back, away from the soft warmth tucked against his belly. He stretched his arms up over his head, letting them lay akimbo on the pillow.

He was just so _tired_. What had he done the night before that had him so bushed? Caspian could not remember doing anything too strenuous. He could recall confronting his uncle, but that was nothing unusual. Arguing with Miraz was so commonplace that he could do it with his eyes closed, and still win. In fact, he had done that once. It was remarkably fun.

Another mellifluous and gentle sigh sounded just beside him, somehow waking him while still pulling him towards sleep. The young woman was obviously heavy-eyed; waking her would have been rude. And then it hit him.

The young woman was Lucy.

The urge to sleep was trampled beneath the urge to say good morning to his new friend. As he got to know her (and he only barely knew her), his almost vicious want for her dissipated. It was shameful for him to think of her like that. Lucy was good and pure, almost unfit for his rough hands. She was still just a woman, albeit an intelligent one, but more than the women he knew. They were either catty or dim, and always beneath him in class. Lucy was still beneath him, but she did not seem to know it.

The blankets beneath him shifted and pulled, alerting him that his little bird was finding the sunlight just as bothersome as he did. He found that he wanted to see her, sleep-rumpled and just a little bit grouchy.

Blinking past the slight crust sealing the seam of his eyelids, he turned his head to the side, focusing his blurred on the head of dark hair contrasting against his sheets. Asleep, Lucy looked even more unguarded than she did awake; like she could trust everything around her. The cuteness almost made his stomach churn, though it may have just been butterflies.

The girl's dark lashes fluttered against her cheeks as her mouth piquantly tightened and relaxed. Drowsily she opened her eyes, staring up at him softly. He could not read the emotion in her eyes, but he knew she would have no problem understanding his bright smile. They had survived the night, and the morning looked positively glorious.

Eventually, she gave him a sunny smile and sat up, the blankets falling to her lap. She looked positively adorable, dwarfed in his shirt as she was. His smile outshone the sun as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Did his father feel so… pleasantly twitchy when his mother woke up? He knew they loved each other, so they must have loved _being_ together.

"Good morning," she practically cooed dulcetly.

"It definitely is."

She giggled, _giggled_, as she ran a hand through her messy brown locks. He had barely noticed the tangled locks, but when she grew pale as she fingered something along her hairline, his stomach nearly bottomed out. The night before, he had unfortunately sneezed on her.

Though it went against his character and normal habits, he jumped out of bed, wide awake when he was usually still asleep. He scrambled to the door, oblivious to Lucy's baffled stare. His face was red and warm with his embarrassment. How could he not remember… _defiling_ her so? She had even asked for a bath!

"Uh… I'll be right back."

Lucy's confusion was clear as he left the room like a thief fleeing the scene of the crime. The man did not even bother putting on acceptable clothing.

Yes, Lucy had finally accepted that Caspian was a man, not a boy, though he was still more child than adult. His eyes sometimes hinted at wisdom he was far too young to have.

And he had the backside of a rugby player, but she would keep that to herself.

* * *

At the other end of the scale, the maids were beginning their day. The life of a palace servant is tiresome. It is not boring though. In fact, there was no such thing as a dull day. The castle was rife with scandal and intrigue; each tidbit of gossip was worth its weight in gold.

This made two unimportant laundresses very wealthy.

Though they had been educated, they were not very intelligent. They were clever in the sense that they knew tittle-tattle when they heard it. But they did not see the wisdom in keeping to themselves until the right time. Their names were… something. They were too insignificant to be worthy of remembrance.

"I think they're still in bed together," the younger one said to her plump, grey-haired companion.

"Prince Caspian should borrow some of Lady Prunaprismia herbal contraceptives!"

They were so engrossed in their natters that they did not notice the young woman quietly folding napkins by the window. For the most part, she was entirely unremarkable. Her face was thin and tired, though she was barely seventeen. She had sallow skin and straight black hair, with slightly chapped, albeit elegant hands. She could have been pretty, but nothing ever more than ordinary. But her name and family made her slightly less drab than she should have been.

Her name was Gwendolen, and she was the niece of Caspian's former nurse. She had been present for most of the prince's childhood, and was one of his early playmates. Her lack of bravery and spontaneity kept her from any real closeness with the prince; she was far too dainty and shy to be of special interest. But he loved his nurse, and treated Gwendolen like family. When Miraz replaced said nurse with Dr. Cornelius, Caspian procured a job for Gwendolen at the palace, so that they would not become desolate. He was so good to the young woman, making sure she had a comfortable position. Caspian was unbelievably kind, especially since a nurse and her niece were of no great concern.

And, oh, how Gwendolen loved him. There was no man more magnificent or handsome than her prince. She longed to even be considered as a noteworthy woman in his eyes. But she just was not… impressive enough, whereas this girl the maids talked of was.

Gwendolen's mouth tightened bitterly as they blathered on about the young girl with the sweet voice and strange accent. With every retelling, the girl grew more beautiful, more inhumanly divine. They had not seen her, but the prince's behavior hinted that she was truly something to behold. They reasoned that she was either a perfectly proportioned Tarkheena, or even a fallen star. Gwendolen did not believe in either description, but the girl must have been extraordinary to have caught herself a prince.

She could bear the two gossipmongers no longer. Her current chore was done, and there were surely more that awaited her. In the corridor she tried to shake off the well-known disappointment that swathed her when Caspian was mentioned. The marble and stained glass beauty of the hallway had no effect on her. She was just too plain to find anything beautiful about the palace.

Once alone with nothing but her echoing footsteps, her gloomy thoughts left her be. The prince had every right to enjoy whatever woman he wanted. He was too honorable to philander, like his rather amorous uncle, but he was a man in a position of power.

"Don't think like that," Gwendolen whispered to herself mournfully. There was no point in putting herself down. She was just a simple serf.

Just when she was about to move on in her thoughts, a heavy hand clapped down on her shoulder. She gasped and spun around, thinking it was just another servant. But, as if her heart was not abused enough, there was the love her life, barefooted and dressed in his pajamas. His hair was horribly finger-combed, and his eyes were still a little sleep-dazed. The prince was never a meticulous dresser, but this was odd even for him.

"Gwen," he intoned breathlessly. Her heart leapt in her throat at his hushed timbre.

"I need your help."

* * *

Lucy sat in bed, reclining against the headboard since there was nothing else she could do. She would not snoop around, looking for diaries or secret hiding places; she understood the limits of privacy. More than anything, she wanted to clean Caspian's mess. Her tidy tendencies had been present in both her parents. Her father loved keeping the lawn mowed, while her mother took an unnatural pride in folding laundry.

But she was not certain that Caspian wanted a neat room. Surely, if they had passages just for servants, then he certainly had the help on his side. The morning light made his room even more charming. He was definitely untidy, but not a slob – there were no bits of food or glasses. The room was all at once lived-in and neglected, like he spent time in there, but not enough to form any lasting attraction. It certainly was homier than her dorm room.

'_My dorm room…'_

The memory of her school slammed into her like a speeding train. How could she have forgotten England for even a second? She needed to get home, not play around with some man pretending to be a prince! Was this Narnia really a place, or had she retreated so far into her psyche that there was no hope of returning to reality? Were things really that bad? Sure, her parents were dead, and Peter was as good as dead fighting terrorists in the middle of the desert; Susan was an idiot gold-digger, Edmund was quickly becoming a lush, and Eustace was unnaturally cruel. Of course, she only had one friend at her school, a school which happened to be in the middle of nowhere…

Okay, so maybe things were that bad, but why would her mind conjure up something as bizarre as this? She had somewhat figured out the equation that was Narnia.

Spanish conquistadors minus the Spanish language equals Narnia!

Futilely, Lucy tried to smooth her tortured hair down against her head. She felt grimy, like a gutter after a rainstorm. And because she felt super slimy, she did not want to stay in Caspian's sheets any longer. It was like changing into a ball gown after running a marathon.

Rather gracelessly, she hopped out of bed, stumbling over a pair of muddy boots. She did not want to sit down on anything, lest she ruin some royal… thing.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the bronze telescope. With each passing moment, it grew shinier and more tempting. What was the harm in one little look.

Dressed in nothing but an oversized, practically see-through shirt, she tiptoed over to the telescope, and pressed her eye to the lens. Its hinges were well-oiled, so it did not squeak as she swung it around the courtyard just outside of Caspian's window. From her vantage point, she could see birds, servants hanging laundry, even a group of soldier playing dice by the rose bushes.

"Boring, boring. Gimme something juicy… _There we goooo._"

With a little tweaking, she had stumbled upon two very swarthy, hairy people either wrestling naked or getting their freak on. Lucy had come about in the "Sex and the City" generation; nothing shocked her anymore. She still felt kind of ill though.

What she hoped was a woman pressed her (or his) disturbingly large and heaving bosom against the window. She literally felt bile rise in her throat as they got back to, uh, _thrusting_. The one with the longer hair must have been the female, she reasoned. They both wore copious amounts of rouge, so that was no help. There was jiggling flesh, bouncing pillows, and lots, lots of skin glistening with either olive oil or sweat.

While she was too busy gagging/giggling, the door to Caspian's room creaked open.

As they crossed the threshold, Gwendolen was stuck stupid by the girl hunched over the spyglass. She was… she was short. And pale. And shapeless!

"What the hell is going on here?" Gwen asked angrily. She was pulled away from her work for a half-dressed toddler?

Lucy choked and jumped back, tripping over that same pair of boots, only to land on her ass in an undignified heap of scared shitless teenage girl.

"Lucy!" Caspian dropped to his knees, knocking his shoes away before reaching out to help Lucy get up, only to have his hands smacked away as she pulled herself up by the bed post. Her cheeks were red and hot as she smoothed down the shirt fluttering around her thighs. Caspian's own cheeks went slightly pink as he caught sight of her bare legs. He looked away quickly, but Gwen still saw that brief look of need in his perfectly dark eyes. She even managed to throw a murderous glare at Lucy while the girl was otherwise occupied.

Caspian smiled as Lucy backed into the edge of the bed, as if everything she did made him unreasonably happy.

_Bitch_, she thought to herself with some glee.

* * *

Caspian smiled like he had just done something absolutely perfect. He looked so accomplished, so smug. Far from arrogant, he was beaming with pride. One would think that he had proved the existence of dark matter, or even had cured cancer.

In reality, he only had found Lucy a dress to wear, and some water to bathe with.

But it was a start!

"Lucy," he said so warmly. "I know you wanted a bath, but this'll have to do for now." There was no mistaking the... Well, Caspian apparently had no control over the way he emoted when it came to speaking. Needless to say, he sounded smitten.

Smitten was not a good thing since he was expected to be a very manly, very stalwart prince. Especially over a _peasant_ girl he had just met.

Gwen cleared her throat pointedly behind him.

"Oh, and this is Gwen," he said offhandedly. "She's going to give you a dress."

"I thought I said loan!"

* * *

Lucy waited until Caspian reluctantly stepped out of the room to introduce herself to this Gwen.

_Finally, somebody with a normal name._

"Hi, I'm -"

"Let's just get this over with."

With brisk efficiency, Gwendolen stripped Lucy like she was shucking corn. The young girl stood naked in the elegant room, her arms crossed over her breasts. Gwen opened the door a smidge, dragging in a wooden pail before Caspian could see Lucy's state of undress.

"Use this," the older girl commanded as she shoved a bar of soap into Lucy hands, before going over to the pitcher and vessel Caspian used the night before.

Up to this point, Lucy was deeply terrified by Gwendolen and terribly shy about her own nudity. She had gone from dignified to humiliated in three seconds flat. Years of communal showers at St. George's made her unashamed of her naked body around other girls. Gwendolen was acting no crueler and perverted than her upperclassmen early in the morning.

Before she knew it, Gwen was practically manhandling Lucy as she helped to scrub her down. The water in the pail was almost painfully hot, and the wash cloth was rough and scratchy on her skin. Lucy took care of her more tender areas, smoothing the bar of soap over her breasts and stomach. She immediately recognized the spicy scent of grapefruit and sandalwood. This must have been Caspian's soap. Curiously, she cupped the bar in her hands and held it under her nose.

Unseen by her, Gwen's eyes burned with a hatred matched only by the midday sun. Seemingly unable to edit herself, she started washing Lucy's hair with more force than necessary, hell bent on getting out of there before she outright murdered Caspian's new squeeze.

"Please stop pulling my hair!"

"Oh, I'm _soooo _sorry."

* * *

Caspian heard some very strange sounds coming from his room as he waited outside - thumping, squeaking, a few ouches here and there; sounds that really had no place in his bedroom. It sounded like two dogs were brawling in there.

Finally, Gwen emerged, looking very smug as she wiped her hands on her apron.

"All done!"

* * *

Though the mere sight of Caspian with that child made her blood boil, Gwendolen's could not resist one last look. Her heart, already brittle from disappointment, crumbled in her chest at the utter tenderness in her love's eyes. She longed to have him look at her with even a fraction of the adoration and devotion he had for this Lucy. The prince lately did not jump headlong into anything; his royal status made him wary. And yet his face was always glowing with happiness whenever she was around. The little minx had everything Gwendolen had ever wanted, and, most likely, would ever want.

Gwendolen sighed and turned her head, somewhat ashamed of her bitter voyeurism. It was so unfair, but there was nothing she could do. Though Lucy was a horrible minx, Caspian liked her. And Gwendolen would do anything for her future king, even if it meant pasting on a smile while she diligently tended the trollop that was Lucy.

As she walked back to the kitchen, her troubled mind played with her memory. In a flash, it was not Lucy wearing Gwendolen's dress, but Gwendolen herself. And that the wondrous emotion on Caspian's face was meant for her, not some pretty foreigner.

The life of a palace servant is tiresome.

And for Gwendolen, it was heart breaking.

* * *

Caspian did not like Gwen's broken nails, or her red fingertips. She was more than capable of taking down male servants twice as heavy as her. He watched her walk away with one brow arched. Something was definitely wrong with the usual meek and boring Gwendolen.

Gwen was gone from his thoughts by the time he turned back to Lucy. She was standing in the middle of his room, wide-eyed and shivering in the middle of his room. The dress she wore was made for someone a head taller than her; it hung like a coat on a scarecrow. Her hair was soaked and clung wetly to her ears and cheeks. She looked like a drowned rat.

"All clean," she said weakly as she futilely tried to make the dress fit better. Caspian bit down on his lip to keep from gushing about how cute she looked. He was somewhat frightened by his behavior – he had only seen little girls behave this way over knights at a jousting tournament.

"Hold on," he intoned gently as he stepped over to the chest at the foot of his bed. He could feel her eyes on him as he rummaged around through various items of his childhood. Caspian had to consider his next decision as he fingered a piece of delicate, expensive silk burnt velvet. With a smile, he realized there was no decision that needed to be made.

"This was my mother's." Lucy's eyes widened. "My father gave it to her before I was born." His hands trembled as he wrapped the scarf around her trim waist. It was black and patterned with gold. He remembered his mother wearing it when he was very little.

"Caspian this really is too nice. You shouldn't -" He held a finger to her lips.

"She's not here, so it's -"

The doors slammed open, taking a picture down as they battered the walls. The man who had opened them had a neatly trimmed goatee, olive skin, and eyes so maniacal he could have beat out Dick Cheney for the 'fucking insane' award.

"CASPIAN!" he roared, nearly frothing at the mouth as he took in Caspian and Lucy's position. His eyes roved over the expressions of the two shocked occupants, who stood stock still as he gave them a once over. As he saw Caspian's fingers pressing into Lucy's belly, he rolled his eyes skyward, and grabbed the boy by the ear.

"Damn it, boy, you can undress the servant some other time. You're so lucky Prunella is an idiot and doesn't have the brains to recognize when you're not there."

For the second time that morning, Lucy was left shell-shocked in Caspian's bedroom as he made a hurried exit.

Little did she know, she had just met Miraz, the self-styled king of Narnia.

* * *

Hello! How are you today? Well, I hope.

Oh, me?

I'm good, very good!

Why am I good, you ask?

Because I get to hand out money! Lots of money!

First, I have to hand out money to Silvercharm. She… or he found the secret quote from _Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers_. It was only secret because I forgot to mention it in the A/N. But she… or he spotted it anyway!

But I'm even happier to reward Nikki for her keen eye, and taste in musicals!

The quote was from "Something Good".

_Perhaps I had a wicked childhood  
Perhaps I had a miserable youth  
But somewhere in my wicked, miserable past  
There must have been a moment of truth_

_**For here you are, standing there, loving me  
Whether or not you should**__  
So somewhere in my youth or childhood  
I must have done something good_

_Nothing comes from nothing  
Nothing ever could  
So somewhere in my youth or childhood  
I must have done something good_


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Hopefully, you have all noticed the addition of Gwendolen. She was not originally going to appear. But after those filler chapters, I had no idea where to take this story. It felt like something was missing. Then Gwendolen came to mind, and everything somewhat clicked into place. I won't reveal her purpose in the story, but she is a new main character.

However, there are conflicting opinions of her.

**The Digital Gate**: Now I like Gwen, dang it.

**Breebree33**: God, I don't like her.

You two.

_Fight to the death._

* * *

In the dining room, a superfecta of evil had gathered. At the head of the table sat the ninny, King Miraz. To his right sat Prunapismia, his bitch and hopeful baby momma. By his left hand, Duke Anonymous squirmed in his seat like he was suffering from a terrible case of hemorrhoids. Then there was pudgy, pouting Prunella, who was rather territorial over a plate of bacon. Since she was a pig, she was committing cannibalism.

The last member of their party was nowhere to be found. Caspian was a master at being fashionably late, but this was tardy, even for him. Prunapismia, who already hated the boy, was as steamed as a boiling tea kettle. If all went as planned, she would be stuck as that brat's aunt. Then again, she would be queen. It was a load she was willing to bare.

The duke was deeply focused on his table manners. He mentally went over the purpose of every fork and spoon in front of him. Was he appropriately dressed? Did he use too much cologne that morning? What about the topics for conversation he prepared that morning? Were they senseless, or articulate? Would they make him appear foolish in the eyes of the king?

As for Prunella, she was fixated on her breakfast. She wanted her bacon, and the only thing stopping her was the prince. For a man destined to be her husband, he certainly was not living up to his spousal duties. Which were, namely, to get her things! Pretty dresses, hair pins, silken slippers, gooey raspberry tarts… Anything that made her happy.

Miraz eventually got so fed up that he stomped out, his soft soled boots thumping noisily against the ground. Miraz was silly, in Prunella's opinion. He could afford all the silk and velvet he wanted, and yet he did not give her any at all! Did he not know just how special and impressive she was? Why else would he invite her to the palace (that would someday be hers)?

Then he marched back in with a rumpled Caspian who still wore his pajamas! His bare calves were positively scandalous as he was all but thrown into his chair. He glowered at Miraz and did not even spare a glance at the suspiciously red Prunapismia. Duke Something-or-other ornately said hello, praising the prince for his unfashionably late appearance. From there on out, breakfast continued on awkwardly.

Caspian shifted in his seat like he was sitting on hot coals. King Miraz cut his food into little chewable pieces, eyeing everyone at the table with hawkish hunger. Prunaprismia's gaze was fixed on her plate, and her blush spread all the way to her breasts. The duke lacking a name shook like a wet dog in winter. Prunella was lucky enough to be totally ignorant of the tense undercurrents. There was fresh whipped butter and warm pastries. But she kept noticing Caspian's twitchiness. He ate quickly, and did not talk to anyone. Before he could be stopped, he all but flew from the dining room.

Miraz ears turned red, Prunapismia's face split into a frighteningly intense glare, and the nameless duke fainted in his seat. And then it was a free for all as the adults started speaking.

"The selfish boy!"

"He is just so noble and fair!"

"That brat saw me naked."

Prunella was somewhat put out that she was left out of the conversation. She was the most amazing person there. They should have been praising her for her perfection. Her father began apologizing for no apparent reason. It was not his fault that Caspian was flaky.

But he was her key to the crown.

On his way out he had left the door open, and she could hear his footsteps. He was probably heading somewhere important. As his future wife, she had every right to follow him (though he should have been following her).

Getting up from a chair was difficult. She was just a young flower blooming into glorious adulthood; she was certainly allowed to have baby fat. Waddling after the prince, she made a list in her mind of the things that would have to change in the castle. The first thing that she would do was turn the hallways into roads; that way, she could use a carriage indoors so she would not have to walk.

Losing weight did not even occur to her.

Her breathing was labored by the time she finally caught up with Caspian. And by then, he was already in his bedroom. _How careless he is_, she thought to herself as she openly stared through doors that were ajar. Caspian's face was bright and happy, his eager smile making his good looks even more striking. Sometimes, she did remember that he was incredibly handsome, but then he would go and ignore her. Like he was doing now.

He was completely oblivious to her, focused solely on the serf before him. She was as skinny as a dandelion, and just as ugly. She was as grey as storm clouds, and sickly pale, like milk from a dying cow. But the way he acted around her was astonishing. He just could not stop smiling and blushing. Caspian took the servant's hands in his, running his fingers over every crease and knuckle.

And then, most amazingly, he leaned forward and neatly pressed his lips to the girl's cheek. Prunella could almost feel the way his eyelashes tickled her temples. Was she his sister? His lover? A really experienced seamstress? What warranted such open affection?

Prunella would have stayed longer, had her stomach not grumbled decisively. There was still food to be eaten, and she was missing out on the fun. Her young mind was still free of impure thoughts. Life was about simple pleasures, and nothing was more pleasing than food.

Turning back to the dining room, she ambled through the halls, trying to find her way back. But the hallways were as maddening as a labyrinth, and she got lost more than once. She did everything she could to remember where she was – she peered through windows, considered asking servants for directions, and opened many doors. But one door she opened revealed not a pantry or bedroom. Bouncing around on a pile of laundry were two very fat animals with cheeks smeared with cosmetics. They wore not clothing, so they could not have possibly been humans. Prunella had never liked animals, so she left them very quickly.

Somehow, some way, she managed to find the dining room. The adults were still arguing like squawking chickens, but they did look up when she entered the room. Prunapismia glared, her father's mouth fell open, and King Miraz just raised an eyebrow.

"Miraz," she began informally. "There are two walruses fighting in one of the bedrooms. I think you should go fix it."

* * *

For the second time that morning, Lucy was left shell-shocked in Caspian's bedroom as he made a hurried exit.

Little did she know, she had just met Miraz, the self-styled king of Narnia.

While the man did look resplendently gay in his fur coat and what could only be described as a silk blouse, he did not strike her as kingly. You cannot put lipstick on a pig, as the old saying went. To be honest, seeing Caspian being dragged by the ear was hysterical. But now that she was all alone, with nothing but silence to accompany her, she felt that old familiar loneliness. Lucy was not a needy a person, but in this situation, she desperately needed Caspian. He was her knight in shining armor – tall, dark, somewhat mysterious once you got past the whining. So being all by herself was very frightening.

There was no point in just standing there, but as she looked around, all she wanted to do was tidy up. The mess chafed at her obsessive compulsive tendencies.

_There's no harm in making the bed. What could possibly go wrong by making the bed?_

Inching towards the bed, she tried her best to be stealthy as she straightened the covers. And what is the point of pulling up the blankets if the pillows are not fluffed? Before she could help herself, the bed was fully made, wrinkle free and perfectly tucked.

Lucy was exceedingly proud of herself. But with the bed so pristine, it only made the room look even messier.

_Well, he shouldn't care if I fold his laundry… Would he?_

Caring or not, she carefully folded each piece of clothing. It reminded her of Monday mornings with her mother, taking care of the weekend wash. Mrs. Pevensie would hand off socks to Lucy, expecting her to match them as needed. It was another of their rituals. In some ways, Lucy was the favored daughter. It had never affected her relationship with her siblings, but she knew Susan hated not being the center of attention.

Lucy's hands shook as she picked up an undershirt. When was the last time she had done laundry that was not hers? She would never help Susan with hers, so when…?

_Oh._

The day of her parents' car accident, she had helped her mother sort out school uniforms. The weight of the memory had Lucy kneeling on the floor.

* * *

_They were in the back yard. It was Saturday morning, 6:30 to be precise, and everyone else was asleep. The patio table was stacked high with primly folded piles of camisoles and slips. Mrs. Pevensie stood by the clothesline, pulling off pins from crisp white shirts. It was early in the morning – the air was still cold, and the grass was dewy. There were birds clinging to the bird feeder, spilling seeds onto the ground. So many had fallen that spring that there was a patch of wild grass and flowers growing._

_Lucy danced in between the bed sheets billowing in the slight breeze. The ones with the pink pinstripes were hers. Peter had navy blue ones. Her parents' sheets were larger than the rest, big enough for two. Though she and Susan shared a room, her older sister had lime green bedding._

_Her mother peered around a clean, white fitted sheet, smiling gently at Lucy, who bashfully lowered her head at being caught. But all Mrs. Pevensie was laugh and ask for help with the socks. Ever eager to please her mother, she dutifully matched each sock, glad that she was of help._

_Quickly, one basket became two as the uniforms came down from the line. Mrs. Pevensie was careful to arrange the skirts in such a way that the pleats would not be skewed. Ties were smoothed, coats were placed in a separate basket meant for hangers, and Lucy watched her beautiful mother expertly handle each garment. Mrs. Pevensie was just so serene and ladylike with her long fingers and thin wrists._

"_This one will definitely need some ironing," she absently told Lucy as she shook out one of her husband's oxford shirts. It was light blue with white buttons._

_The smell of lilacs and laundry detergent filled the air, swathing the women in what could only be described as pure cleanliness._

_Then the door opened. Her father stood in the doorway, still in his pajamas and bath robe. He was smiling sleepily, his eyes a little unfocused._

"_You ladies are lucky it didn't rain during the night," he said as he sat down on the bench next to Lucy. She giggled quietly as he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, his rough stubble scratching her young skin. He slung his arm around her waist, his palm firm against her waist._

"_I'm not so sure that it won't rain this afternoon." Mrs. Pevensie motioned for her husband to come over. He did, and together they set about folding the bed linens together. It was more loving than any kiss. They took pleasure in helping each other, and the love they felt for each other shone in their eyes. Before she could ask them to slow down so she could keep looking, they were finished. The baskets were full, the clothesline empty._

_Mr. Pevensie picked up a laughing Lucy and placed in the biggest basket atop the linens. Mrs. Pevensie sputtered in disapproval, but there were lesser evils in the world than having wrinkled sheets._

_The laundry was taken care of. Breakfast was next._

* * *

Lucy had the shirt clutched fitfully to her breast, as if it could ease her aching heart. Before her emotions got the better of her, she puttered about the room, cleaning anything she could to distract herself. The fireplace was swept, the curtains were drawn, the papers piled tidily. She was as efficient as a maid, and just as unfocused. Lucy was performing by rote, unseeing and unaware of the damage she might be doing by cleaning what she was not supposed to. But it focused her hands, and helped steel her nerves.

When she finally calmed down, there was nothing more she could do. The room looked like it belonged in a catalogue. Everything was organized and arranged. She should have felt accomplished, but she was lonelier than ever.

"There you are!" She gasped and turned to the door. Caspian was still undressed, but he was not smiling. He actually looked pretty concerned.

"Lucy? What's wrong?" Lucy fumbles for an answer, her hands wrapped tightly around the silk scarf around her waist. Should she tell him about herself?

"I didn't mean to clean your room."

No, she should not.

* * *

Caspian looked around his room, surprised by how clean it was. Nothing was out of place. It was cleaner than it had been in a long time.

"You did this for me?" he asked in wonder.

"Uh… sure!" He missed her slightly squeamish smile, choosing to take her hands instead. They were still small and still white, but he was struck by their softness. But it was fitting, really. Lucy was small and white, and very soft.

She peered up at him with the sweet, wide eyes of hers. He could see his own goofy smile reflected in them.

"Thank you." Though they were safe in his room, he still felt the need to whisper. Gathering his courage, he timidly pressed his mouth to her cheek. Her skin was cool and silky smooth.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING? HOLY SHIT, THEY REALLY DO LOOK LIKE WALRUSES!"

They broke apart from each other and covered their ears against the bellow of rage resounding through the halls.

"Um… let's go get you some breakfast."

* * *

Alright, everyone, I'm about to unleash my geek prowess. Sit back and find me pathetic.

I got a review that I feel the need to respond to.

Princess Lucy writes….

"The internet did not exist in 1940 or even 1950 in fact the computer didn't even come around until 1970 and the internet in 1995.Please do not throw in modern devices that do not exist it is annoying other than that it's a good story so far."

Again, people, this is a modern AU, complete with the internet, David Beckham, and skinny jeans. That's not an issue.

The thing is though, the first automatic digital computer was invented in 1939. Then in 1941, the Colossus computer was designed by Alan M. Turing and built by M.H.A. Neuman at the University of Manchester, England.

…

Damn, I am a total geek.

Oh well!

Anyways, I am back in school, so updates will be sporadic. THEY WILL NOT DISAPPEAR! This is good practice for creative writing, and I love this story.

TTYL


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Whoa! What the fuck happened? Did I miss something? When did the category 'C.S. Lewis' change to 'Chronicles of Narnia'? WHAT IS GOING ON?! WHERE'S MY JUICE?!

Anyways, yeah.

So… because I love you all, I'm posting this now.

* * *

Lucy's feet were bare, and Caspian could see her toes peek out from beneath her dress with each step they took. She had rather charming feet. They were smooth and fair with a fairly high arch. Her left foot had a peculiar scar that curved along her ankle like a crescent moon. Still, they looked untouched by hard labor. He wondered if the soles were ticklish.

Even if he ever got close enough to them, tickling would be the last thing on his mind.

_'I think I need a trip to the brothel.'_

And really, he did. Like all young men of noble birth, he was not a virgin. There was no such thing as forbidden fruit to those in power. Truth be told, he was particularly acquainted with many of Narnia's finest 'orchards' (not to mention the fields he plowed in Calormen). However, he had been without company for a while, and, judging by his thoughts for Lucy, he really needed to go… fruit-picking.

_'Maybe I can get Glozelle to go with me…'_ While he would have felt safer and less embarrassed going with Drinian (sailors always picked the best whore houses), the captain was long absent from his life. Still, Glozelle was a pretty decent individual, when not being a conniving, scheming ass. There was no one else Caspian could take.

Why he needed someone to go with him was up to debate. Glozelle had said that Caspian still needed someone to hold his hand and tell him it was okay, since his father had not been there to do it. Drinian always said it was safer to travel in pairs when dealing with hookers.

Would seeing a whore really solve the problem though? The question would not leave him as they walked together, both inappropriately dressed and happy to be together. It was said that the best way to beat your fear was to face it head on. Did the same apply to desire and infatuation? It would certainly be an enlightening experience.

His throat tightened at the thought of being that close to Lucy, making it hard to breathe, let alone focus on where they were going. Before he realized it, they were walking aimlessly through hallways with no particular destination.

Lucy was considerably hungry and now worried as well. Caspian eyes were glazed and empty, and he did not seem to notice her at all. His footsteps began lagging, and soon they were meandering around as if they were walking through a garden.

"Uh… Caspian?" she asked timidly as she looped her hand through his, tightening her fingers pointedly. Caspian registered the slight pressure, but gave it not one thought.

"Caspian?" Her other hand took hold in his sleeve, pulling and twisting insistently. Caspian just kept on walking in a daze, like some bored zombie.

She stopped and dug her heels in, halting him in his steps.

"_Caspian!_"

"WHAT?!" His voice bounced off the walls and through Lucy, stunning her as if she had been shot in the heart. Her eyes were wide and her mouth fell open. Caspian looked peeved and tense; but as his eyes swung to Lucy's horrified expression, his mistake fell on him like a blacksmith's hammer.

"Oh no! No… I just -"

"I'm not very hungry anymore."

He cringed as she slowly turned around and walked in the opposite direction. There was no reason to snap at her (or anyone as he thought about it). It just sort of came out.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… Lucy?"

He kept forgetting how fast she was when fleeing, for when he turned around, she was nowhere to be seen. Though he loved chasing her, the palace was not the place to play games. He had no idea where she was going, and neither did she.

Sighing, he walked after her. If he shouted out her name, somebody was bound to figure out who was calling.

The last thing he needed was somebody asking who Lucy was, or why he was calling her.

* * *

_'What a jerk!'_

Lucy tolerated many things in her life, and accepted even more. She had her mother's grace and civility, and her father's honesty and reserved demeanor.

She was the quiet one, the modest one, and sometimes the naïve one. There was nothing wrong with being shy, at least in her mind. However, that did not give _anyone_ the right to walk all over her, or to snap at her for no apparent reason!

Caspian, though childish and sullen, was anything but ignoble, and shouting at a 'delicate young female' was pretty ignoble.

Still… Somewhere, maybe in her heart or mind, she could not begrudge him. It was wasted energy, especially on a boy as kind and gentle as Caspian.

Okay, so maybe gentle was pushing it. But at least he was attempting to be gentle.

_'Where am I?'_

The architect of the palace was a flaming idiot. There was nothing but identical hallway after hallway of marble columns and intricate tapestries. It was like the endless loop from two mirrors reflecting one another. It was confusing, monotonous, and stupid.

"You have got to be kidding me," she said to the walls as she spun slowly around, looking for anything that was different or defining. Her eyes drifted to the cathedral ceilings and stained glass windows. Without Caspian herding her like some sheep dog, she could fully appreciate the grandeur of the castle – each arch, each seam, each tassel, every single bolt and screw.

"Oh, how pretty," she finally admitted to herself.

"Indeed," came the gritty, Spanish accent from behind her. Lucy's heart stopped in her chest as if someone reached between her breasts and forcibly clasped it in iron.

To her right was a man she could only describe as bleak. He was tall enough with short, graying curly hair and a beard that was three hairs away from silver. But it was his eyes that caught her. They were black, cruel, and crinkled at the corners as if he was considering some disgusting inner joke. Though he lacked Miraz's opulent appearance, he had the same dark aura.

"You must be new. I haven't seen you before." His voice was like honey – too sweet, too slick, and too sticky. He seemed to be going for charming, but was more encroaching than anything else.

Lucy's tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. Any answer she gave would be damning, to her and to Prince Caspian. She stood there, mesmerized by this man, his voice, and his question. He walked toward her with deliberate, overpowering slowness. If he was crowding her with his presence before, now he was crushing her with his closeness.

With barely a foot of space between them, Lucy was now completely aware of him, but not at all at the same time. Whenever Caspian stood this close to her, she could smell him and feel the heat of his body. Sometimes just being near him was like being touched.

But this man had no presence, no scent, no warmth. It was like standing next to a stone pillar in the dark; and yet, he made her skin crawl. Though he was over a head taller than her, she would not raise her eyes past his chest – even when he placed his cold hand on her shoulder. He had thick fingers and a square palm, and skin that was much too smooth. Caspian's hands were thinner and rougher, not to mention much more welcome.

Something in that moment made Lucy reevaluate her feelings for Caspian. She realized that she felt very warmly about him, and knew that she wanted to be his friend – and not just for protection.

"If you need anything, anything at all--"

"I will cut that hand off if you don't remove it from her."

There was no sound more precious or beautiful than Caspian's just then. He sounded terse, tense, and generally unpleasant, but her cheeks flushed and her eyes lowered to the ground as she tried not to smile. To the untrained eye, she looked meek and afraid, but she was really hiding a victorious smile. Caspian's boots thumped heavily against the ground as he quickly wormed his way between Lucy and the rather spine-chilling man.

Lucy exhaled heavily and happily, resting her cheek against Caspian's back.

She was more than happy to let him fight this battle for her.

* * *

_Sopespian._

The name alone chilled his blood. Miraz had many snakes in his court, but there were three that were more venomous than all the others. First there was Glozelle, who was dangerous because he was so easily swayed. He was not naïve or uneducated, but his morals were often shoved aside by his need for dominance. Glozelle did not want to be king, but he was not a man suited for subservience. There was a reason he held the title of General. Caspian did not fear Glozelle too much. Like any small snake, all he had to do was brush him away with the toe of his boot. The only thing he had to worry about around the general was bare feet.

Next was Gergiore, who was Marshal of the Lists to Miraz. As Marshal, he organized duels and made sure that they were fought fairly. Though this duty was usually filled by someone honorable and ethical, Gergiore was picked by Miraz because he was a deceitful opportunist. As long as Gergiore was Marshal of the Lists, Caspian had no hope of challenging Miraz to a duel.

Then there was Lord Sopespian, whose hissing, pernicious whispers were more dangerous than any known venom. His only tangible power lay in his title and closeness to Miraz, but he ruled the court through the rumors he spread and his snake charming charisma. Some said he was a hypnotist, able to capture the heart of any maiden with a fraudulent smile and a well-placed compliment. No one knew how many women he bedded, for none would speak of their trysts, not even Sopespian himself.

There was only one woman Caspian knew of that would likely be immune to Sopespian. Still, seeing him even standing next to her made Caspian want to kill somebody (namely Sopespian). Before he knew what he was doing or what he had said, he was between Lucy and Sopespian, shielding her from any amorous advances (minus his own).

"Milord! I had no idea she was yours!" Sopespian sounded courteous and unassuming, but Caspian could practically hear the wheels turning in the lord's head.

"I never said…" His heart skipped a beat as Lucy rested her cheek between his shoulder blades.

"I never said she was mine, but you'd do well to tread lightly. I don't how many women's lives you've destroyed, but it has to end at some point. And it ends with her."

Sopespian bristled like an angry porcupine, but there was no way he could challenge the prince on anything, let alone this singular encounter. Weakened as he was by Miraz, Caspian was not to be challenged.

The lord trudged off like an upset child, probably flicking his forked tongue in annoyance. Caspian watched him go until he was out of view. When Sopespian turned a corner, he felt comfortable enough to berate Lucy for walking off, but she was… too busy laughing. Full blown laughter sounded from her, the force of such exuberance shaking her body against him. Curious, he looked over his shoulder. While Caspian wanted to be part of the joke, he was happy that _she_ was happy.

He helped her to sit down on the ground since she seemed ready to collapse. From there she hunched forward until most of her amusement died down until she was hiccupping out the last of her giggles. Like a steadfast soldier he knelt by her side, stroking his hand up and down her back in the hopes of soothing her – he was afraid she might be having some sort of seizure. However, she eventually calmed down until she was just sighing happily.

"I have no idea what could possibly be so funny, but please, don't go wandering off by yourself. I can't protect you if I don't know where you are."

Her face was red and her eyes were glassy, and she looked a little bit insane, but it was the most life he had ever seen in her.

"How will we play hide and seek if I can't go running off?"

He smiled, chuckling in disbelief. "We'll figure that out when the time comes. For now, let's eat breakfast."

She would not get up, even when he prodded her side.

"Promise me we'll play hide and go seek."

"I promise," he said without thinking.

But it was obviously the right thing, because she leaned forward and kissed the bridge of his nose. He blushed and pulled back, blinking at her grinning face. She giggled and kissed him again, this time on the chin.

"I always win. I can hide in places you're too big to."

"I assure you, I'm a pretty good hunter."

At some point, they did get up and go get breakfast, though Caspian was not the only one enchanted by Lucy's laughter. From the shadows Sopespian watched, plotting and planning. The prince had an obvious affection for the girl. Why not? She was young and attractive enough to be desired. But she was not just a conquest now. She was a chess piece now, the queen that would win him the game.

* * *

Woohoo!

Yeah!

I would like to thank all of you for being absolutely delightful.

But I have a favor to ask. I've only done this once before, but it was loads of fun.

I want all of you, that's right, ALL OF YOU, to not only write a review (it could just be your name and country), but to write a blooper of any scene from this story. Think of it as a gag reel. I'm dying to know how you would skewer this story.

Much love,  
Kagura


	20. Chapter Nineteen

I can't pop out a full chapter, but here's a treat!

* * *

_There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead. And when she was good, she was very good – but when she was bad she was horrid._

* * *

Prunapismia was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though fate had blundered over her, into a family of artisans. Her widowed mother was a seamstress who tailored the uniforms for local Telmarine soldiers. It earned them a decent living – Prunapismia had her own little bedroom, and a pretty porcelain doll with cherry cheeks and long lashes. Her mother even gave her a new pair of shoes every now and then.

In truth, their money came from a rather well-off duke who had successfully wooed Prunpismia's mother after her husband passed away. It was rumored that he had a hand in the poor man's death (though nothing could be proven).

With such expendable income, the little Prunapismia was able to wear pink ribbons and yellow carnations in her hair _every day_! She was the envy of every girl, and the owner of every boys' heart.

Except for the one she actually wanted.

Glozelle was a young man slated for great things. There was nothing beyond the scope of his abilities. He had bested every other schoolboy in both academia and athletics, and he was a better horseman than most of the adults. But he was hard and cold, like a cobblestone street in winter. There was something fearsome and terrifying in his dark eyes, and it usually chased away everyone but his own mother. Prunapismia was plucky and foolish however – and she always got what she wanted.

Her affection for the indifferent lad began in typical fairy tale fashion. She was a damsel in distress, and he was her white night. It was a warm spring afternoon. The children in their neighborhood were playing tag and skipping stones by the creek; some were even playing hide and seek - but not Prunapismia and Glozelle.

They had isolated themselves, although Glozelle had taken it to the extreme. He was up in a tree, reading a book (probably on sword play). Prunapismia, being in love, sat at the base of the tree, dressed hopefully in her prettiest dress (made of lavender silk!). She was painting a pretty little picture of a cherry tree in bloom. She had several oyster shells filled with watercolors, and a little paintbrush made of horsehair bristles.

In that one moment, with the wisteria blossoms swaying in the mild breeze, life was good. The air was sweet with the scent of cinnamon cakes sold on street carts. Prunapismia could hear her darling mother laughing with another laundress. And most wonderfully, if she looked up, she could see her beau's feet idly swinging. Life was perfect.

And then some little jerk had the gall to flip all of her pigment-filled shells, ruining her charming picture with its charming cherry blossoms.

Prunapismia gasped in horror as brown and pink paint pooled on her work of art, her masterpiece. Her spring tree was just muddy puddles and a piece of paper soaked through and through. She looked up at the culprit with tears in his eyes. Whoever he was, he was grinning maliciously.

Little boys like playing tricks on girls they like. For some reason, they think teasing is the best way to gain a girl's affection. It rarely worked, and it certainly had no effect on Prunapismia. She wanted to strike his mouth so hard he would be silent for weeks to come; but she had delicate, clean hands unfit for such violent. Something _needed_ to be done though! She wanted to cry and scream, but that was unbefitting of a lady. There was only one thing she could do.

With tears in her voice, she worked up the bravery to do what she had always wanted to do.

"Glozelle!"

In a flurry of motion and sureness, the love of her life jumped from the tree, landing on his feet like the tigers in her picture books. He stood protectively in front of her. His shoulders, which would someday be broad and masculine, squared solidly with conviction. The other boy quivered in fear, and before he could run off, Glozelle closed his fist, draw his arm back like a coil, and punched that awful boy so hard, blood exploded from his mouth.

With a wail of agony, he stumbled away, presumably into the arms of his mother. All of the children were looking at Prunapismia and Glozelle with equal parts fear and surprise. But Prunapismia was staring at his back with all of the love in her heart.

His task completed, Glozelle looked over his shoulder, frowning at the ruined picture. Sighing, he knelt before Prunapismia, and to the best of his ability, brushed the excess watercolor from the parchment – but it was no use. It could not be saved.

"Paint another one," he commaned with poise. Prunapiusmia smiled eagerly. Glozelle offered a stern frown and a detached nod. As he turned to go, Prunapismia gave into her foolish wants, and threw herself at her hero.

"Get off me!" he yelled as she sprawled herself on top of him. Then, before he could stop her, she kissed him. He went very still for a few seconds, seemingly shocked. Before long though, he regained his senses, and was gently pushing her off.

"Gross!" Scowling, he stalked off, shaking his head at the silliness of the little girl with flowers in her hair. A flock of girls ran towards Prunapismia, helping her to her feet while they wiped the dirt away from her clothing.

Even as they fussed over her attire and wellbeing, she was staring at that cold boy with his cold eyes and stubborn jaw.

"One day…" she cooed to her friends.

"We're going to be _married_!"

* * *

One more week of school people! Then I am making love to my computer, so we can make beautiful chapter babies together.

Au revoir!


	21. Chapter Twenty

That first morning turned into a night, and then that night turned into a day. That day turned into a week, that week into a month, and before they knew, it was summer. The world was warm, green and bursting with life. The spring thunderstorms had brought weeks of blooming flowers and creeks fattened by rainwater. Staying inside was a sin – not when the sun was shining so earnestly. At least that was the excuse Lucy gave him whenever he wanted to stay indoors.

They did indeed play hide-and-go-seek, but that was not the only thing they did. He taught her how to fish, how to properly ride a horse, and even some basic archery (he even bought her a bow and quiver). In return, she taught him how to make candied bacon, the best way to hold a butterfly, and several songs by a man named Jimmy Buffett.

However, there was never any balance in their relationship. He did so much for her, and there was no way she would ever be able to repay him. Caspian did not care a whit, because by the time June arrived, Caspian was thoroughly and inconsolably in love with Lucy. He had tried to convince himself otherwise, by telling himself that she was just fun to be around; but then he would catch himself staring at her hair, or her throat, or something equally mundane. It had only taken a few weeks for his lust to swell into something more everlasting and irrational.

When she offhandedly mentioned her love of swinging, he immediately had the servants hang one from the strongest branch of her favorite tree. If she yawned, he was there with a blanket. Whenever she made a face, he was questioning her emotions. Every secret smile she sent his way was a blessing and a torment. He was a slave to her wants and needs, even though she never said a word.

Caspian had never known anything could as beautiful, or as cruel as love. Try as he might, he could not suppress his emotions. Thankfully, his love for her had yet to make him clumsy or careless, but there were times when she would ask why he grinned, and he would only smile wider. He looked like an idiot, but she would gracefully laugh it off and move onto another subject.

"And why are you telling me this?" Glozelle questioned tiredly.

"Because I can't talk to anyone else."

"You know I might have to tell the king about this."

"Stop gossiping you two," Lucy called from the other side of the creek. At the behest of the young girl, the trio went on a noble quest. Not to save a princess or slay a dragon, but to find a suitable swimming hole. It was much too hot to stay inside, she had moaned earlier. Caspian, being whipped, immediately mentioned a spot not too far from where they first met. Unlike their meeting place, however, the water was calm and the beach was wide. Years back, he had even tied a rope from a tree, so that he could swing right to the middle of the stream.

Lucy was making good use of that rope, swinging again and again into the river. After each turn, she would reemerge from the water, all smiles and laughter as she pushed the hair from her eyes. She was in her own little world, which gave him the perfect opportunity to confess _everything_ – all while she was in viewing distance. It was almost like telling her personally.

Well, not really.

"Why don't you talk to Gwen? Weren't you two friends?" Glozelle's gaze flickered between Lucy and Caspian (who was skipping rocks).

Caspian sighed sadly, and examined the smooth, flat stone in his hands with a thoughtful frown.

"She's in love with me. I think she has been for some time. If I told her any of this… I don't know what kind of harm it'd cause."

"Then, for goodness' sake, tell Lucy!" Glozelle snarled in exasperation.

"Tell me what?!" Both men looked at Lucy, who was paddling treading water maybe twenty feet from them.

Glozelle watched in wonder as Caspian's mouth opened and closed. He looked like a fish.

"Just tell her," he whispered helpfully.

"Tell me what?" How clueless she looked, with her bright eyes and dopey smile. If she had any idea about their conversation…

"That I'm going to whip you, young lady!" Caspian called as he pulled his shirt over his head, leaving him in just his breeches.

Lucy screamed in glee as he dove right in, and before she could even think about swimming in the other direction, she was being pulled under by firm, but always gentle hands.

"I hate children," Glozelle seethed as he walked away, uncaring of the two fools and the bubbles they were creating.

They could drown if they wanted to. He had more important matters to attend to.

Like cleaning the sand out of his boots.

* * *

"Why can't I buy you new clothes?"

They were lying together in the sand, close enough to the water that the waves licked their toes; and they had yet to put their clothes on. Lucy had on a pair of blue gym shorts and a pink camisole, while Caspian wore nothing but his under breeches. Despite their state of soaked undress, neither seemed at all concerned with modesty. If anything, they both seemed a little bit proud of their rebellion. Mostly they were just sleepy.

"Because I said so. Is it so hard to believe that I don't need you to clothe me?"

Caspian laughed and turned onto his side, just so he could tuck a single strand of hair behind her ear. Maybe it was just his imagination, but she seemed to lean into the touch.

"You need to me feed you, bathe you, keep a roof over your head… Is it so hard to believe that you would need me to clothe you?"

"Oh Prince Charming! Would you do me a favor, and shut the fuck up?"

They giggled together and looked at the sun peeking through the branches of the Water Oak hanging above them. It was just an ordinary summer afternoon, one of several they had already shared. It was hard to believe that she'd been with him for two months. Two whole months! At some point in that time, she had cemented herself as his closest friend. That was not very hard however. Most of his friends were inebriated, pampered heirs and soldiers. They had no responsibilities, save for finding a suitable wife, and mistresses that would keep their mouths shut. To say they were irresponsible and boisterous was an understatement.

So to find someone as subdued and mature as Lucy was something incredible; and to like her at all was even more amazing. Sometimes her honesty and good sense was annoying, like when he was acting childish or unreasonable. In those situations, she was not his friend, but rather his nanny. It was irritating, but she could usually bring him down.

But it was moments like these that really brought them together. When they were all alone, and merely being together was enjoyable, it was then that Caspian felt that he loved her the most.

Love, love, love… It was so freeing to pin his emotions with a single word! Everything about her, her ears, her eyes, the dips and hollows of her collarbones… every little thing about her could be summed up in one word. However, his feelings for her made him awkward and foolish whenever he was near her – desperate too.

"Have you ever kissed a boy?"

Lucy sat up quickly, flinging sand all over Caspian's face. Somehow he closed his eyes in time.

"Why are you asking that?" she asked as she helped brush his face clean. Caspian was thrilled that she was touching him at all.

"Why aren't you answering?"

"Because it's none of your business!"

By now he was intrigued by her shyness and prickly responses (not to mention the wet cotton clinging to her skin). "What are you wearing again?"

"Soffe shorts and a tank top."

"They look like undergarments to me."

A lot of their conversations over the past two months went along these lines. He would ask her about her world, she would answer him, and he would poke fun at her. As far as wooing went, he wasn't doing a very good job. It certainly was not working very well on Lucy.

Try as she might, Lucy could not quite move past Caspian's immaturity, mild as it was. She just couldn't see anything rather princely in him. He was just a little too whiny and pithy to be King of Narnia (horrible as Miraz was).

Not that she knew anything really about Narnia. She knew that it was near two other countries, Calormen and Archenland. She also knew that it was mostly forested, with some marshlands, and that it was bordered on the east by an ocean. However, no one ever traveled to the coast. Caspian had offhandedly mentioned ghosts or something even sillier. Either way, it meant that he would never take her there. It frightened him that much.

Lucy didn't need a sea however, not when she had a crystal clear spring, and a nice patch of white sand. Having a handsome friend who looked good without a shirt was not so bad either. It only made the place feel that much more beach-like.

"You never answered me. Have you ever kissed a boy?" And then Caspian would ask questions like that, and he would be anything but a friend. This was not the first time the subject had been broached. Caspian had asked her if there had ever been a boy in her heart, or a young suitor after her hand. The language was antiquated, but she reasoned it had something to do with dating and Valentine's day. The answer of course had been no. This question, though, had a different answer.

"Yes I have," she finally responded with some embarrassment. Caspian shot up in the sand, and stared at her oddly, as if he had never seen her before.

"And you're not married to this man?"

Lucy laughed and shook her head. "He was hardly a man. I was thirteen and he was fifteen."

Caspian frowned. "Most girls are betrothed by then. Some even get married. As for the boy… it's a little young for a noble, but most peasants are at least married, if they don't already have children."

Shrugging lightly, Lucy stood up and tiptoed to the water's edge, until she was ankle-deep in it. "Not where I come from. Some people wait until they're thirty, others don't get married at all." She heard Caspian come up behind her, but he did not approach. It was like he was scared of her.

"What about you? Do you plan on getting married?" She shrugged again and lightly kicked at the water's surface.

"I don't know. I'm only fourteen. I guess… if I meet someone I can't wait to see every morning, then I'll marry that person."

Caspian had never heard anything poignant or sensible. Lucy was no bard, indeed sometimes words failed her, but she was usually incredibly honest. As a matter of fact, she was sweet and sincere to a fault. To her, everything was forgivable, and people were inherently good. Caspian had been alive long enough to think otherwise.

"I hope I have that option." His tone was winsome and regretful. As a prince and heir apparent, his bride was probably already chosen for him. But the hope that he could marry for love still lingered, and it almost exclusively existed in Lucy.

Then she turned around and smiled softly. "You could fight for it. I've seen you with a sword. You could channel that energy towards whatever you wanted."

Caspian's answering grin was just as gentle, and definitely more affectionate.

"I think I know how I want to use it."

He knew Lucy was entirely oblivious, but he also knew that could not wait to see her every morning.

It would have to do for now.

* * *

This is unbeta'ed, which you'll have to deal with. But hey, at least it's another chapter!


	22. Chapter Tweny One

Alright folks, we're coming up on the end. There aren't that many chapters. In fact, there are only five left, not including the epilogue. This story has a small, but clearly dedicated following – on June 12, there were fifty-seven separate visitors. Hell, for a Lucian story, that's a lot of people. It's also an international community! There are people from England, Poland, Malaysia, and even Brunei, a country I'd never heard of. It's thrilling really.

So how about, for these last few chapters, you guys rally together, and review your little hearts out. It's not that hard, and it would make me very happy.

By the way, I went ahead and relabeled the one-shot 'Curls' as an actual chapter. It indeed plays a part in the story, and it deserved to be its own chapter.

Alright everyone, it's the beginning of the end.

Here's chapter twenty-one.

* * *

They were _playing_ again, like careless and spoiled children. They had no chores to worry about, no deadlines, and certainly no mountains of laundry. All they had to worry about was catching a leather ball, and then throwing back. They were having fun, and it was driving Gwen insane with rage.

She was watching the two playmates from an upstairs, her face distorted in anger. Caspian and Lucy were darting around after each other, playing folk football in the midday sun. He looked so handsome, barefoot and laughing as he jogged after his precious pet. Gwen had never seen him so free and happy, not in the fifteen years they had known one another. It was all because of the harlot, Lucy the Witch, as Gwen had taken to calling her.

With a low moan of despair, she collapsed onto a stool and got back to folding Lady Prunapismia's underwear. For some reason, the widow only trusted Gwen to handle her garments. It was not that Gwen was an exceedingly talented seamstress. She was no better at hemming than any other laundress. Hell, Gwen could not tell the difference between a damask stitch and a satin stitch. This was because she did not realize that they were the same thing, but still – she was entirely unimportant. That Prunapismia even she knew existed was weird and wonderful.

However, Prunapismia would probably be furious over how many stockings Gwen had ruined that morning. Seeing Lucy and Caspian together just made her so mad! What was so special about a skinny little wench? So what if she was obviously unusual?

Gwen growled and viciously tossed a smock against the wall. She was so tired of playing second fiddle. Before that maiden fell from the sky, Caspian shared his dreams with her, his fears, everything. And now? The most she ever received was a hurried greeting or a casual goodbye. It was becoming apparent that he had never loved her, and never would. Any hope she had for a relationship was gone. He would end up happily in love, and she would grow old and ugly, with nothing but silk and cotton to keep her company.

"Why is my laundry maid so melancholy today?"

Gwen gasped and clasped a pair of step-ins to her chest. Lady Prunapismia stood in the doorway, her elegant brow inquisitively arched. She wore a lavender gown cut from raw silk, with a tightly boned bodice and floating chiffon sleeves. Her hair was pinned in a high chignon, with a single yellow carnation tucked behind her ear. Though the widow over thirty-years-old, she was still a lovely thing to behold.

"I'm fine, milady," Gwen groused as she resumed her folding. She still had a ball gown that needed pressing, and the jacquard velvet required delicate handling. It would be hours before her task was finished.

Prunapismia sighed and gave the poor girl a sympathetic smile. In Gwen, she saw a little bit of herself, albeit a poorer and plainer version of her. Uncaring of her expensive gown, she plopped down onto a low bench, carefully arranging her voluminous skirt.

"Don't lie to me," she responded with some authority. Miraz was minutes away from proposing to her – she could sense it. There was no better candidate for queen. He needed someone fearsome, not some withering daisy; and Prunapismia was very proficient at being forceful.

But as Gwen sighed sadly, Prunapismia was moved to pity. Though a servant, she was not meant to be quite so unhappy.

"Tell me," she reiterated a bit more firmly.

Gwen raised annoyed and defeated eyes to the would-be queen. "It's that little harlot Caspian is so fond of. She doesn't work, she doesn't clean… everything is handed to her on a silver platter! She isn't a noblewoman or a courtier, so there's no reason for her laziness. She should be working as hard as any other peasant here. But does she? Oh no, not the fair _Lucy_," she practically spit the name out like it was venom. "Her hands are unfit for lye and lemon oil."

Prunapismia's dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She knew that it had nothing to do with labor.

"You're in love with Caspian, aren't you?" Gwen blushed and coughed awkwardly, but she nodded her agreement.

"And he's in love with her, isn't he?" Again Gwen nodded. Prunapismia felt her heart skip a sorrowful beat. She had been in the girl's position before. She was still in it – only now she was to be queen. It was a fitting revenge, and someday she would believe that.

"Oh my dear, how unfortunate to be unlucky in love." Prunapismia's gaze turned inward as she focused on memories she had long ago locked away. "We're not all meant to be with the ones we truly adore. It's not always our fault. Sometimes… men can be so cold and callous, and they don't realize that women can't wait forever! Then they take back their marriage proposals, and go off to war."

Gwen watched with open curiosity as Prunapismia crossed her arms under her breasts, and continued ranting with a biting tone. "And when they come back from campaigning with swords and catapults, they fully expect you to be waiting with open arms, and a full kitchen. But their declarations of love are not enough anymore. It's so easy to fall out of love, you see, and to only fall back in it once the other person has grown to hate you. Knowing nothing is to come, you give into whoever has the most coffers."

"We're not talking about me anymore, are we?"

Prunapismia gasped and cleared out her throat. "I'm just saying. Some dreams weren't meant to come true.

Gwen could only nod.

"Uh huh."

* * *

As Lucy poked through her meager wardrobe, she was dismayed by how threadbare every item had grown. Her jeans holes in the knees, her shirts were as thin as tights, and her favorite cardigan was frayed and pilling. There was nothing, absolutely nothing nice enough that she could wear to… actually, she did not know where they were going.

After a wonderful morning frolicking in the grass, Caspian proudly told her that Miraz had lightened the restrictions placed upon her. As long as she had a royal escort, she could enter some of the common areas. More importantly, she could attend royal events! Caspian had skipped several balls and feasts, just so she would have some company. He never complained, but Lucy hated being tucked away like some redheaded stepchild.

So when he approached her, and asked if she would spend the afternoon with him, she was delighted. In some ways, it was like their first date. Lucy always told herself that Caspian was too old, or too childish, or too snobby to be of any interest; but then he would smile sweetly, or compliment her hair, and she would forget to breathe. He was handsome, a prince, and sometimes very thoughtful. Susan would have liked him immensely… just like Lucy did.

Her father, before he died, was always joking about weddings and marriage proposals. He teased that if a priest said 'for the next fifty years', instead of 'til death do you part', no one would get married. 'Until death do you part' brought with it the hope of dying tomorrow. 'For the next fifty years' seemed like an eternity. Lucy could see herself with Caspian until death do them part, but not for the next fifty years.

She did not know if it was love, or just companionship, but her feelings for Caspian had slightly, but steadily grown. Lucy figured it had something to do with Stockholm's Syndrome. Stockholm's Syndrome or not, she still had nothing to wear.

"Why aren't you dressed?" Lucy looked over her shoulder at Caspian, who was busy fiddling with a pair of silver cufflinks. He looked dashing, if incredibly overdressed.

"I haven't a thing to wear!" she laughed as she spun around. He chuckled imperceptibly and held out parchment wrapped bundle.

"I know you told me that you didn't want any clothes made for you, but I think I came up with a fair compromise."

Lucy groaned and covered her eyes. "I don't want any gowns, or jerkins, or whatever it is you people wear here. I am quite happy with my own clothes." Out of politeness, she took the package. It was smaller and lighter than she expected. Whatever it was, it was not a ball gown, or a jerkin, or whatever it was people wore there.

"I promise, it's none of those. Now, you cannot get mad at me for sneaking around. Just trust me on this." She sighed and shook her head, but she quickly tore through the paper and twine, and came upon a very pleasant surprise.

It was not a ball gown, but a pleated woven skirt with a wide band, and sweetly embroidered flowers at the hem. It suspiciously similar to her school skirt, right down to the length; but the color, soft white cotton, and stitching made it infinitely prettier.

"Oh my stars!" she breathed as she held it against her legs, modeling it in mirror. She looked more like Maria from 'West Side Story' than an unadorned schoolgirl.

"There's more," he said tenderly. With a bubbly smile, Lucy picked up the last two items. There was a blousy, butter yellow camisole with a ruched, banded waist and lace trimming around the yoke of the shirt. The last piece was clearly modeled after her favorite cardigan, right down to the turquoise cashmere and three-quarter length sleeves.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" How thoughtful his gift was! It was dressy but not ornate, elegant but not outdated, and it was exactly what she needed. Not even Susan owned custom made clothing, and Susan owned _everything_ as far as fashion went.

Her smile was prettier than blooming rose, but Caspian had another trick up his sleeve.

"I even had shoes made for you." What a pair of shoes they were! They were all things sweet and lovely, a pair of pink ballet flats with a pleated toe and ruffled instep. And oh, they were made from the nicest leather she ever touched!

After neatly kissing his cheek, she picked up her new outfit and disappeared behind her changing screen. He could hear her disrobing, but as alluring as it sounded, he had one more gift to reveal – a single pearl, suspended from a delicate silver chain. It was simple, charming, and ineffably Lucy.

"Well, what do you think?" Lucy asked as she reappeared. He could not think at all, really, not when she looked so pretty and happy. Everything fit perfectly to her frame – he would have to thank the tailor later.

"Absolutely charming, but… something's missing." Lucy frowned curiously. She was dressed impeccably, her hair was pulled back in a tidy French twist, and a light sheen of lip gloss lent her mouth a pink tint. What else was there?

Then he pulled out that necklace, and she had never felt more complete. With a gasp of obvious pleasure, she snatched the jewelry from his hands and clasped it eagerly around her neck. The chain was neither too short nor too long, and the pendant rested exactly in the hollow of her throat. It was absolutely beautiful.

"Oh, Caspian," she intoned as she looked herself over in the mirror. She was as pretty as a princess, and even prettier than Susan (or so she liked to believe). Playfully twirling once, she turned and offered Caspian a grin so happy, it made his insides quiver with excitement. "This is all so perfect! If I had known this is what you had in mind… I would've let you give me a new wardrobe much sooner!"

Caspian giggled, he actually _giggled_ as she played with her skirt's pleating and plucked at her new sweater. She was so easily pleased. Most women required heavy jewels and damask silk to make them happy. Lucy was pleased with simple fabrics and comfortable shoes. There was no woman more perfect than her.

"You never told me," she quipped playfully, "Where we're going!"

He grinned and tucked her hand into his elbow.

"To the gallows. A murderer is to be hung today."

* * *

Oh noes!

If you haven't noticed, the chapter list has been completely reorganized, and some chapters have even been renamed. I figure the new order makes it easier to read.

REVIEW!


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

Holy crap. I just realized that I started this story five years ago. That is really depressing. More than that, it really screws up the ages of the characters. Mind you, I _did_ completely rewrite it, which means I've been working on this version for a little over… two years now – which is still pretty sad.

Okay, so… let's assume that this story takes place in the year 2007, and that Lucy is fourteen at the time.

* * *

"To the gallows. A murderer is to be hung today. Now, find yourself a parasol. It looks like rain."

_Rain…?_ Lucy's thought process completely stopped. She could not believe what she had just heard. It was a stunning declaration, and she was unable to completely digest it. He was taking her to an execution, and his main concern was _rain_?

"Are you insane?!" Lucy shouted as she violently pushed his arm away from her. "What is wrong with you?!"

Any joy and good cheer was viciously sucked out of the room, leaving the two cold and estranged. Caspian was staring at her with obvious bewilderment, while Lucy looked more than shocked – she was petrified, and for one obvious reason.

England had no capital punishment. The last execution took place in 1964, and in 1998, it was completely abolished. Lucy was barely five-years-old at the time, and had always been raised as a good Christian girl – the death penalty was barbaric. She has always believed that the death penalty explicitly went against 'Thou shall not commit murder'. But Caspian… he spoke of it as if he were inviting her out for tea.

"I'm sorry," he began bemusedly. "I should've told you about the rain earlier. Would you like me to find you a pair of boots?"

_Boots?!_, she thought in horror as she tripped backwards. A man was to be killed, and he was focused on her feet?!

The situation was so surreal, so unnerving that Lucy's eyes were darting about the space, trying to pull herself together. It was, indeed, her little bedroom that Caspian had set aside for her. At one point it had been a storage room, but now it was a nice, cozy den for the castle's most unusual guest. There was a blue, paisley patterned rug on the ground, to shield her feet from the stone tiles. Heavy curtains made of grey, wool crepe kept the sun off her face whenever she slept late. A comfortable cot was situated under the window, draped in indigo, crushed velvet bed linens. It was her room, and a very nice room at that.

But it was all too real, which meant that Caspian, without a doubt, had just invited her to an execution. And flippantly at that!

"I can't believe you," Lucy gasped as she collapsed onto her bed, her hands at her throat. This was not happening! Such brutality was so odd, so uncivilized, that she thought Caspian was above it. Yet here he was, proving her wrong in the worst way possible.

"Am I missing something?" Caspian looked so confused then, so at a loss for words. His blank stare said it clearly.

He did not know her at all.

"Caspian," she said carefully. "The death penalty is _evil_."

That only made him laugh, like she just told some hilarious joke.

"Lucy," he playfully chastised. "He killed a man. What other punishment do you recommend?"

Then she came to a realization of her own.

She did not know him either, but she still clung to the hope that he was dearly familiar.

"Life in prison is a perfectly viable option! Killing him does not bring the victim back."

At this, Caspian's smile turned a little sharp.

"But it does bring the family comfort."

"While destroying another!"

Caspian rolled his eyes and indifferently waved her off. "Be real, Lucy. Using an iron fist is the only way to deal with common criminals."

She shook her head vigorously, pleading to him with her eyes. "No, it's not! It doesn't solve anything! It only turns good men into killers themselves. Where I come from, there is no death penalty."

Then, for the first time ever, Caspian got angry with Lucy, something she thought would never happen.

"Oh? Where do you come from? England? You have _no_ country, Lucy. You've only stories to tell. This is your home now, and you better get used to our laws." Caspian scoffed. "Silly, idealistic girl."

Lucy bristled, her hands coiling into white-knuckled fists. Saying she had no country was the most hurtful thing he could have ever told her. It was the last thing she ever expected him to say. This was a man who was supposed to care for her. He had told her more than once, that he would help her get home. Was he lying to her then? Was he lying to her now?

Lying or not, he had hurt her most unforgivably. It was only fitting that she respond in kind.

"I would rather be a silly, idealistic girl," she seethed, "Than a _murderer_."

The word, the accusation, the _insult_ barely had any effect on him. He just narrowed his eyes, and sneered at her.

"Fine. Don't come," he informed her facetiously. "See if I care."

With a noncommittal shrug, he left her there, to sit and fume to her heart's content. The door slammed with a dreadful sense of finality. As Caspian left for the execution, so did her affection for him.

It was peculiar, really. She felt so betrayed then, and very… unfortunate. It was the only word she could think of. How unfortunate to start loving someone, only to have it thrown back at your face, along with some horrific slurs. Plus, he did it so calmly, so smoothly. She thought he could be nothing but kind.

She was wrong.

Some hours passed, and Lucy just sat on her comfortable bed, staring expressionlessly at her feet. Her new shoes looked right back at her, as pretty in pink as Molly Ringwald. She felt like a child put in 'time out'. Not even her mother put her in 'time out'.

But then the drums started. At first she thought it was a marching band, but there were no piper's piping, no 'Scotland the Brave'. Those snare drums could only mean one thing.

A man was being lead to the gallows.

The tapping grew louder, and _louder_, until she thought her head would explode. It was killing her to sit and not stop it, but there was nothing she could do. For heaven's sakes, she could not even remember where the gallows were. So she did the only thing she could.

She ran, and she did not bother with the secret tunnels and passages. Lucy sprinted down the main hall, past several lords, ladies and servants, who had no idea what had just rushed by them. Perhaps it was a mime, or an escaped sex slave, but certainly no one Caspian esteemed. Or used to esteem.

Bounding through the rose garden, she barely noticed the storm grey sky. It was certainly the last thing on her mind as she stumbled into the stables. All of the horses belonged to Caspian, and it was making her stomach ache. But there was one horse, a bay mare, which was too plain to be of any princely interest.

"Her name?" Lucy huffed as she caught her breath.

"Doris," the stable master offhandedly replied as he brushed down Caspian's favorite war horse, Destrier. Much as she loved animals, that was the one horse she would butcher herself, if she had the heart or the hooks.

"Is she easy to ride?" It did not matter. She would saddle whatever horse Caspian did not own.

"Incredibly, milady. She's a sweetheart."

Lucy was sold. Not only was Doris a sweetheart, and very calm as her tack was strapped on, but she was surprisingly swift. Over the month and a half she had been in Narnia, she learned how to ride, and even tame horses. Her favorite was a Palomino filly called Jedda, but she belonged to Caspian. Doris was nice, however, and she flew as if the hounds of hell were after her.

With the wind in her ears, and her hair slapping against her cheeks, Lucy was dead to civilization. All that mattered was leaving Caspian behind. The world was a green and grey blur, and existed only in the corners of her eyes. Her face was numb and cold, and her eyes were dryer than sand in a drought. She saw nothing, not the grass, the rocks or the ominous grey clouds. Lucy was so blind, that she felt the river before she saw it.

"Shit!" Lucy called out as she frantically pulled back on the reins. Doris was knee deep in the choppy water, and blustering nervously. It was only out of necessity that Lucy truly opened her eyes. She was at the Great River, presumably at the Fords of Beruna. This was the first time she had ever been there.

Had it been any other day, the location would have been absolutely beautiful. The sand was white, the water was blue, and the river was clear of reeds and lotus pads. It was wider than she had been told. She had been under the impression that she could trudge across it without getting her knees wet. Looking at it now, she gave up any hope of staying dry.

What a pathetic portrait she must have painted! Her legs were barely covered by a skirt that rode high on her hips, revealing thighs that were too pale and quivering from a long ride. The French twist she spent so much time perfecting was completely gone. Now, the pretty up-do was nothing but a frizzy nest of knotted and flyaway curls. As for her face… it was red and chapped from wind-burn. She was anything but beautiful in that moment – or happy for that matter.

Idly, Lucy noticed that the drums had stopped… or maybe she had just gone farther than the sound could travel. She should have felt peaceful, being surrounded by silence and nature, yet she was anything but. Lucy's heart was pounding so heart she expected it to just give out. Her 'Pastoral Symphony' was turning into a 'Night on Bald Mountain' – and there was no 'Ave Maria' in sight.

As Doris kneaded and pawed at the river bed, Lucy took a few minutes to review the morning. She woke up at eleven, grumbled her way through a hearty brunch, and then spent the next three hours fretting over her wardrobe. When two-thirty rolled around, she was still frantic over her lacking couture. Caspian showed up at three, and by three-thirty she was impeccably dressed.

And now? Well, she did not know the hour, but she knew a man was most likely dead – having been strangled, unless the fall had snapped his neck. Sometimes, she felt that time worked differently in Narnia. The morning she arrived, the minutes passed so slowly. Contrarily, the next six weeks happened in an instant.

Sitting atop her horse, pondering over the past, she could barely recall any single memory of her stay. Her mind was reasonably unfocused, but nevertheless, everything was blurred and blended, until the voices, places and faces existed as a single entity. It was like remembering a dream, or idle gossip told by a friend of a friend. Perhaps it was just horror or denial, but nothing made sense.

It might have been the magic of the place playing tricks on her. Just across the river was the Forbidden Forest. Lucy could barely see into the tree line, so its secrets were kept safe from her. What she could make out were swirling shadows that were almost enticing. The depths of that forest's darkness were calling for her to come out and play. Maybe it was just her desire to escape, but she carefully dug her heels into Doris's side, and urged the mare across the river.

The water got deeper and licked at her coldly at her toes, but she made it across in one piece. However, when she reached that far shore, the forest stopped beckoning. Everything stopped. For the first time in many weeks, she realized what was wrong.

She wanted to go home. Maybe not to St. George's, but definitely to Peter, Edmund and even Susan, in spite of their bitter parting. In some ways, leaving her siblings was more devastating than the death of her parents. With her parents, she had at least stolen a goodbye kiss and a lingering hug. But when it came to her siblings… _poof!_ They were gone. Or rather, she was gone.

Beneath her, Doris was tired, cold and shaken by the river crossing. Lucy felt sorry for the poor beast and dismounted promptly. Her thighs hurt, which was expected, but so did her heart.

And then, just like a bad movie, it started to rain. She would have laughed at the irony, if not for the next 'bad movie' cliché.

"I love you," came a breathless voice from behind her.

Caspian loved her.

It was anything but funny.

* * *

OH MY GOD.

I just got back from a meeting with my lawyers, and they said not to post a new chapter until I got LOTS of reviews. They threatened me with a gun.

Please, review before they use that gun.

Oh, and they're pissed too because this is unbeta'ed.

But they'll be placated with reviews.

As will I.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

Hey everybody. A few of noticed that the last chapter was slightly confusing. Don't worry; it was supposed to be that way. Remember, that chapter is exclusively told from Lucy's point of view; and she's not exactly in control of her emotions, because a certain someone is using way too much magic.

Here we go!

* * *

"I would rather be a silly, idealistic girl," she seethed, "Than a _murderer_."

What. A. _Bitch_.

"Fine. Don't come," he informed her dismissively. "See if I care."

How utterly _petulant_ of her! Caspian knew Lucy was stubborn as a mule, but to be as ill-tempered as one? Ugh, it made him want to shake some sense into her. But if she didn't want to go with him, then _fine_. If she wanted to be naïve, then that was her choice. She could stay there and slam her fists against the ground. He was going to watch justice being served.

True to form, Caspian was to escort not only Prunella, but her mother, Drusilla also – who was just as fat, stupid and ugly as her daughter. However, she was prone to sporadic fits of inappropriate giggling, and batted her eyelashes at him more than she ought to. The woman was _married_, and yet she still plastered herself to his side as they all walked towards their carriages.

Everyone who was anyone was hoisting themselves into their buggies, phaetons and stagecoaches. It was a parade of fashion, pomp and wealth, usually displayed at weddings, funerals and coronations. Caspian had a feeling that they were only so overdressed because Miraz was attending as well. Only women would have showed up if just Caspian were attending.

Sadly, it was solely women that Caspian traveled with. Not only was he uncomfortable wedged between Prunella and her mother, but three other unknown ladies were shoved in the carriage with him. Briefly he was upset that Miraz allowed no room for Lucy, but then he remembered their argument, and actually began conversing with his female companions. Well, they conversed with him. He responded with single syllable words, sighs and nods, but it was enough to raise their hopes. In their eyes he saw proposals and wedding dresses, and it only made him long for Lucy. A Lucy who was not so huffy, however.

When they arrived, Caspian was achy and sweaty, as if he was suffering from a summer cold. In truth, it was because he'd been stuck between a rock and a fat place for the better part of an hour. Stumbling out of their coach was more liberating and messy than birth; but before he could even move a boot, Prunella and Drusilla were on him like leeches – and slow leeches at that. He physically had to drag them up to the viewing pavilion they were so massive. When they finally made it up to the viewing platform, the three of them were huffing and panting in exertion – even Caspian, who prided himself on being physically fit.

There were seven seats on the royal platform. Two of them were obviously for Prunella and Drusilla, as they could easily fit three people. There was also a place for Prunella's father, the Duke with the escapable name. Miraz sat in the most luxurious chair, with his decidedly bored mistress at his left. Caspian had never seen Prunapismia so melancholy and out of sorts. Whatever she was thinking about, it was heavy stuff. The last two chairs, nestled right next to each other, could only be meant for two people. One of them was throwing a tantrum. The other was wishing he had stayed to reason with her.

Both seats were cushioned with purple pillows, meaning that they belonged to the prince and his guest. But since he had no guest, he had a choice in who he sat next to. He could sit next to Prunella's flirtatious and obese, who was giving him 'the eye'; or, he take the seat just to Miraz's right. It was like choosing to commit suicide with two knives – which would kill him faster, and with less pain involved.

There was no second-guessing on Caspian's part. He sat next to Miraz.

"Where's your pet?" the false king hissed like a snake as his nephew's seat was filled. Caspian bristled at the insulting endearment. He did not pet as in loved one. Miraz thought Lucy to be little more than Caspian's newest animal companion.

"She isn't feeling well." She certainly wasn't acting well.

"What a pity," Miraz said with false sympathy. "I wanted her to see this."

For once, Caspian was of the same opinion. Lucy always presented herself as honorable and upright. Why would she care about thieves and murderers? They were a detriment to society and civilization in general. A successful kingdom always reigned in its criminals. Lucy's England must have been unruly and overrun with crime.

As much as he wanted to talk to someone about the morning's events, there was no one around. He could not talk to Drusilla, and he _would_ not talk to Miraz. With nothing but his thoughts to focus on, he decided to keep his eyes on the gallows.

In one of Miraz's fits of deficit spending, he tried to lighten his economic burden by setting up one location for execution. Previously there had been separate stations for hangings, guillotines and burning stakes. Now there was just one spot that served all deaths. Disgustingly, Miraz also cut back on spending by having it cleaned only once every three months. There was blood and feces all over the stage, staining every surface brown and red. Some crows were plucking at something in the noose being tied as everyone waited.

"You couldn't even replace the rope?" he whispered in contempt to Miraz.

"I had it cleaned for a bronze coin. It's fine." Miraz did not whisper. He must have been proud of his thrift.

"Then why is it red?"

The king laughed once. "The last person to use it was so fat, that when they kicked the stool, his head popped off."

Caspian glowered at Miraz's callousness and stared straight ahead again. "You should be ashamed of your wallet."

Another laugh. "But I'm not."

Cheers broke out among the stands as the drummers started. Caspian watched as a pleased smile crossed his uncle's face. That man really was despicable, and looking at him only made Caspian sick. And so he looked at the delinquent being dragged up the stairs to his deserving punishment.

He was dark-haired and sallow-skinned, like every other criminal who had graced the stage. His clothing hung off of him in bloody strips, clearly torn by a strong whip. That must have hurt…

"What did he do?" Caspian asked.

"He killed a man."

With a roll of his eyes, Caspian asked again. "What did he do?"

"Someone tried to rob his wife. He cursed the man a coward, and stabbed him through the heart."

That was it? "Any man would've done that for his wife. Even you."

Miraz laughed sharply. "I wouldn't even do it for Prunapismia, or even you. Laws are laws."

There it was – Miraz's true face. Beneath all that glamour and opulence was a bloody despot, a tyrant who killed without pity. Miraz was not justice. He was vengeance.

Caspian's stomach knotted itself like the noose that was being lowered around the man's neck; and in the stands, Caspian looked upon a woman in a grey dress, weeping into her hands. She was small and surprisingly fair. This was the man's wife, and what a good wife she was. Even in despair, she would not leave her husband's side. Her eyes were fixed on her husband, who would not look away from her either. They must have been so in love.

He felt for his wife, the way Caspian felt for Lucy.

It was enough to send him running away from Miraz's horrible spectacle. His feet failed him, and he almost fell down the stairs, but somehow he made it down the stairs. He made it as far as his carriage, before he fell to his knees, and vomited so hard he practically destroyed his stomach.

That could have been him! That could have been anyone. Caspian thought back on all the executions he had ever witnessed, and realized that they all probably had women of their own; women who would be left husbandless, defenseless and left to care for themselves. If he died… Lucy would have no one.

She had to know how he felt. She just _had_ to. The world could end in a moment, and his last words to her would be "See if I care".

He did care! If not for the man being executed, then at least for Lucy.

Finding a horse was easy. He only had to cut one loose from its carriage. Caspian was good rider, even bareback, but the trip was slow because of nausea. At one point, he nearly keeled over just from the weight of the wind on his face. Whatever the horse's name, it was smart and lead him straight to the castle. Caspian would not have been able to do it on his own.

But there was no Lucy to be found. How could he prostrate himself at her feet and beg for forgiveness, if she was not there?

For that matter, where was she? It was about to rain, she was stupid to leave the castle. However, he was stupid to leave her, so it made perfect sense for her to leave; but how to find her?

It only took Caspian three seconds to figure it all out. There were only a few places Lucy could go, and only one if she wanted to escape – the stables. There was just something about women and horses that just went together. It was the same principle with peanut butter and chocolate.

"Why am I focusing on food?" he berated himself as he ran down to the barn, where hopefully Lucy was hiding. Obviously she was not, because the cosmic forces were against. Maybe that prisoner's soul was tormenting him.

Caspian stomach clenched as he leaned over, and wretched in a spare bucket. With no food in his stomach, pure acid came streaming out of his mouth – taking his throat with it. The pain must have been nothing compared to the pain of dying.

More vomiting, and he came to realize that there was a rather frightened stable master was standing in Destrier's stall. The poor man probably thought the prince was dying.

"Did a pretty brunette just come out here?" Caspian moaned painfully as he wiped some spit from his lips.

The stable master nodded fearfully. "Yes, your majesty. She took Doris out for a ride."

"Doris? That boring mare? She doesn't even belong to me… Oh." That must have been the point. In a more forceful voice, he continued. "Saddle Destrier for me. Now"

Caspian had never seen a man prepare a horse so quickly. Nor had he seen Destrier so testy. The black stallion looked ready to stomp the man to death. He even tried to buck Caspian off!

It would be too many long moments before Destrier was calm enough to run. Precious minutes passed as the noble steed pawed the ground angrily. Caspian grew more and more frantic, until he finally dug his heels in, and drove them on.

Lucy was sweet and wonderful, but her path was more apparent than a giant's. She led Doris on a straight line, through mud. It was like some invitation; but he had miles to cover before he found her. Luckily, Destrier was fast, or maybe just mad, but he was swifter than a shooting star. Within fifteen minutes of a furious pace, Caspian could see a patch of turquoise through the tree line – Lucy was crossing the river.

That would lead her to the Forbidden Forest!

Caspian's chest compressed around his heart, and he urged Destrier on with a firm '_hah!_'. As he reached the shore though, he was paralyzed by fear. What words would sway her heart, or at least her temper? He had scoffed about _death_ to his best friend. That was just in bad taste.

He thought about turning back, but then she collapsed on the sand, immediately making him worry. Perhaps she had broken an ankle. On top of everything else, it started to rain. It had been grey all morning, so why was he surprised by the sudden shower? Maybe because when it rained in Narnia, temperatures could get frightfully cold. She could get sick…

While he swam in his own thoughts, Destrier had been slowly crossing the rivers. Doris was a breeding mare, and Destrier was not a gelding. Naturally he would prefer her company, and not his demanding rider's. However unintentional, Destrier made the decision for Caspian. Water splashed onto Caspian's thighs, but he noticed not. The only thing he saw was a broken little girl, kneeling on the ground.

As he dismounted from his stallion, a mere meter from her, there was only one thing he could say.

"I love you."

* * *

Oh… my God. I got seven reviews for the last chapter. That's the closest we've been to ten in a while. Because of this...

I have decided to write one additional chapter, increasing the number of chapters from twenty-five to twenty-six.

Just think. If I get ten reviews, that means I'll add yet another chapter!

On a different note, I just watched the new 'Harry Potter' movie. Considering I didn't see the last movie, or read past the fourth book, it was, well… boring. But it brought up an interesting question.

Why, oh why, oh _why _am I a fan of shipped couples? Couldn't I go for a canon pair, just once?

When it comes to Harry Potter, I am a die-hard Viktor/Hermione shipper. No joke – it's depressing. With the 'Narnia' series, I go for Lucy and Caspian. My favorite 'Avatar' couple is Zuko and Katara, and they never got together!

I must like punishment.

Review.

To make me happier.


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

Hey NarniaFan! How are you? Is your mother well? How about your friend? I hear she's a Lucian fan now. That makes me very happy.

Tell your friend not to worry. The story is indeed reorganized. From now on, the newest chapter will be the last chapter. When I post another new chapter, I will move it back towards the rest of the chapters. For instance, this is chapter twenty-four, but is in the twenty-seventh slot. When I post chapter twenty-five, I will move chapter twenty-four, so that it is right after chapter twenty-three.

When the story is completely finished, I will move the two one-shots to the very end of the story. This way, each chapter flows smoothly, starting with the prologue, then chapter one, then chapter two, then chapter three… and then it will be finished with the epilogue, of course.

If you go through the chapter list, you will see that all the extras have been removed. This should make reading things easier.

And now, chapter twenty-four.

* * *

There it was. That marvelous declaration that could heal nations and start wars. Cleopatra and Marc Antony destroyed Egypt with it. Romeo and Juliet poisoned themselves with, and because of it, Caspian destroyed Lucy's belief in him.

"What did you just say?" she asked calmly as she arranged her skirt over her legs. Caspian did not see the danger in her question.

"I love you," he responded as if he couldn't believe it himself. He said it again, with so much joy and pride that it was easy to forget the morning - for anyone but Lucy, at any rate. Such adoration only made her heart hurt worse.

"I really do love you." How pleasantly surprised he sounded. She sounded that way whenever she got a free scoop of ice cream at Baskin Robbins.

So maybe associating human death with junk food was a clear sign that she was not thinking clearly.

"I can't believe it," he continued on without a care in the world. "I've been too afraid to say it, but now that I have… I feel so much better. Oh, it feels so good to say it aloud. For too long, I felt like three gallons of water crammed into a one-gallon pail. It's freeing really."

"Shut. _Up_."

He laughed. "No. I'm serious! I love you."

"No. You don't."

Behind her back Caspian fell silent in shock. Lucy was acting surprisingly calm. She was very much focused on her skirt. The rain made it surprisingly sheer. She could see her legs through the clingy fabric. A few hours ago she was in love with the fabric. Now it just annoyed her.

"What do you mean? I love you - _very much._"

She should have known better. Susan wore white to every wet t-shirt contest she ever competed in. At least Lucy was wearing underwear though. Susan was more than happy to 'forget' her bra. Once she even encouraged Lucy to do the same. Lucy had never felt more creeped out.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" His voice was closer than before, maybe just a few inches behind her. "This is a good thing. You could be queen," he said as he laid his hand on her shoulder. His fingers knocked her from her idle thoughts right back into reality – right back to the execution.

Which is why Lucy pulled her arm away, coiled her fist, and swung her elbow sharply backwards.

Straight into Caspian's crotch.

It made her feel _so _much better.

* * *

Caspian choked and fell to his knees, his hands clutching his injured anatomy. For the nth time that day he felt like puking, only now he was castrated. Black stars danced across his vision, the minutes turned to eons, and Caspian suffered the worst sort of pain.

"This is what death feels lie, isn't it?" he whispered in agony. So much for bearing an heir and a spare. "I think I need a doctor."

"No, you need to listen to me!" Lucy shrieked like a banshee as she shot to her feet. He could not even move, and here she was as spry as a filly. Caspian suddenly wanted to be a woman. Actually, Caspian probably was a woman now.

"I can't believe you can say that right now! A man has been executed, and here you are, telling me you love me? Are you fucking crazy?"

"I won't be fucking anything for a long time. I can't even breathe right now." By the stars, this was sheer torture! Even his toes hurt! Women had it so _easy_. How were the defenseless, if all it took to incapacitate a man was good aim?

"If you had loved me at all, you would've stopped it! As it is, I want you to _die_."

"Don't worry," he gasped. "I'm half-way there."

Then she kicked him in the stomach and stomped away into the Forbidden Forest.

Now he was three-quarters of the way towards death.

* * *

A man was still dead, but at least Caspian was down a testicle or two. For some reason she felt so good about herself. She would have to remember that it only took one hit to the balls. Two would probably be lethal. Peter and Edmund would have a soul punching wildcat on their hands if they ever crossed her again. Only the movie 'Teeth' made her feel like a bigger feminist. Except she no longer needed a vagina dentata, as long as her aim was decent!

Doris, however, she probably needed. Those woods were _dark_. Everywhere she turned there were vines and branches, and the ground was so woven with roots that her feet got caught several times. At least it was not raining, although the humidity made everything perilously slick.

Really, what was the big fuss? It was just a forest, a very familiar one at that.

"I've been here before. But how?" she asked the tightly packed trees as they groaned against one another. Their leaves so thick that they sheltered her from the storm, but they also blocked out what little light there was.

If she had been there before, then things had changed. This forest was just so dark and threatening. That was not the emotion she remembered. She recalled… liberation and sweetness. Lucy also remembered escaping something, but what? The forest itself?

If her memory was correct, then there was a lake. It was blue, like a sapphire, and smooth as glass. But there was no way she had ever been there in person. Caspian never brought her here, it was forbidden. It was farther than she had ever ridden too. There were things though, things that were clearly recognizable, or they had been at one time.

"The trees were bare, like winter, but I arrived in the spring." There was no one to talk to, but she spoke aloud nevertheless. It made her feel less alone.

Those pretty ballet flats Caspian had given her were useless. All they did was slide off her feet and get caught in the ferns. She had to walk slowly, just to make sure that she did not lose them. If any animal gave chase, death was assured. That was not a huge concern though. The terrain was too rugged for a bear to move quickly, and there were too many trees for a pack of wolves to run freely.

Only a big cat could spring about easily, like a jaguar, or a tiger, maybe even a leopard. Those animals were not indigenous to Narnia. The last of the big game animals to be eradicated were lions.

Lucy gasped.

"The lion! The lion from the book was here."

As was the glimmer of light in the distance, and the opening in the canopy that went with it.

This was her dreamscape turned into reality. This is where Caspian took her skating.

"It was _more_ that a dream." And maybe it was enough to get her home. Maybe the lion lead her there!

Lucy took off in a sudden sprint, darting through the trees as fast as she could. Like Cinderella, she lost one of her precious slippers, but there was no pain. Hope lent her feet an unimaginable swiftness. Whatever waited for her in that clearing was a first-class ticket back to England.

"Run, Lucy. _Run_!" And run she did, until the light grew brighter, until she could see the grey sky above her. So focused on the sky was Lucy, that she did not see the ground beneath her feet; but it would not have mattered.

Because there was no ground. Neither was there anyone waiting for her.

The only thing she found was a steep bluff and a terrible, bone shattering fall.

* * *

Caspian was emotionally and physically broken, and was almost unable to ride back to the castle – what with his mangled genitalia. His heart hurt more though. Lucy did not love him. Whatever she felt, and was the furthest thing from love possible.

It was his pride that suffered the worst though. Not only were his advances rebuffed, but now he would not be wooing _anyone_. He laid himself bare before her eyes, and not only were his advances rebuffed, but now he would not be wooing _anyone_. How mortifying!

It was a rare day indeed that Caspian fell victim to his own vanity. But he was a prince. Women threw themselves at his feet, just so they could be graced with a smile. He had no trouble finding bed partners. Male servants questioned their sexuality whenever he was in the room. Caspian dined with scholars and sat with kings. There was no better hunter in all the civilized kingdoms.

Pity turned to arrogance by the time he trotted back to the castle. Caspian was prime real estate in the marriage market. There would be other women. Lucy was by no means the last fish in the sea, even if she was a great catch.

Once in the stables he slid off his horse, and condescendingly ordered the stable master to attend to Destrier.

"My horse is tired. Massage him with warm almond oil, then give him a hot bath. Bring him apples and sugar cubes as well. He is to dine like a king tonight."

The stable master curtsied fearfully and took the war horse's bridle. The prince was acting like his uncle, something he vowed never to do. This ill treatment, rude as it was, would make for worthy gossip the next morning.

No servant was saved from Caspian's wrath as he marched towards his room. He criticized the maids for wrinkling his bed linens, snarled at the cooks for turning his sirloin into mince meat, and reduced a six-year-old to tears for breathing too loud. He was their prince, Caspian reasoned. He could do whatever he wanted, especially to such lower life forms.

Before entering his room, he barked out demands, ordering a barrel of the castle's finest mead, and a bottle of the strongest rum this side of Calormen.

Though the wait was barely five minutes, to Caspian it seemed like five hours.

"How lazy," he hissed to the young boy who delivered the mead. "Where's my rum?"

The servant boy gulped and lowered his eyes respectfully. "It is being fetched, milord."

"By _whom_? I want a name."

"Gwendolen, your highness."

Gwen? As in his oldest friend?

"You may go," Caspian said dismissively. The boy was worth nothing, but Gwen he could use for his own ends.

When she entered the room, bottle in hand, Caspian noticed that she was almost pretty. Her skin was clear, her figure was light, and her hair was black with no color variation. She was on the exceptional side of ordinary, but nothing more. Perhaps that it is why they were friends. Gwen was of no desire to him, so he felt no need to impress her – even if she did love him.

The girl was startled as Caspian snatched the bottle greedily from her hands. This was not her mild-mannered, good-humored friend. This was a monster in prince's clothing.

"I'm going to talk now," he told her in a manner-of-fact sort of way. "You're going to listen."

Gwen swallowed apprehensively and nodded, her hands fisted in her skirt. He looked like he was going to berate her, but for what? She had not served him since that day she bathed his pet.

"I just confessed my love to Lucy," he spat out bitterly. Gwen felt what little hope she had left die a miserable death. So it was true. He did not love her. It was like a hammer had been taken to her spleen.

"She refused me, that little minx." Caspian snarled and threw the bottle against the wall. It exploded, sending shards of glass out like a firework's blast. Gwen gasped in fear, and winced as the smell of alcohol filled the room. He was so livid that she feared for herself. Perhaps this would be the one night he exercised his ferocity through physical violence.

"It hurts, Gwen. It hurts more than I thought it would."

But maybe, just _maybe_, it would be the night that Caspian really opened up to her; and with that hope in mind, she braved the lion's wrath.

"I'm listening, Caspian. Tell me everything."

* * *

Lucy screamed as she fell down a nearly vertical slope. The sides of the sinkhole were muddy and strewn with rocks and splintered tree branches. The debris tore clear through her pale skin, cutting deep gashes from ankles to thighs. Every inch of her body was covered in silt. Even her eyes had dirt in them.

As she tried to dig her hands into the hill, several fingernails were torn off, right down to the quick. The was a horrible cracking sound from her left wrist, and pain shot like lightning up to her shoulder. When she finally hit the bottom, Lucy was a mess of blood, bruises and broken bones. However, there was no rest for the weary. There was no solid ground beneath her feet. It was a mire of muck and slime. The rain had turned the dirt into soup.

She tried to cling to the walls of the hole, but it was futile. They were simply too slick, and her hands were useless anyway. She would have to climb nearly fifty feet to make it out of there, when she could barely move five inches.

Poor Lucy. She had fallen and could not get up. Resiliently, she tried to pull herself up, but it was simply too steep. This went on for nearly ten minutes before she had to give up. As her adrenaline dissipated, the mind-numbing ache settled in as if she had been hit by a train. Lucy tried to cry, but any time she opened her mouth, mud and rained washed down her throat.

Fortunately, well, as fortunately as the situation allowed, there was a boulder in the center of the depression. It had a reasonably flat top, one she could lie on. Somehow she mustered enough energy to swim to it, and even more amazingly, crawl up it. But with only her feet and right hand, the process was exhausting. Once she was up there, she saw her left hand. Her thumb and forefinger were bent at bizarre angles, and her wrist was this hideous shade of plum. Through her pallid skin, she could see several broken veins.

But she was alive. That was a plus.

Soreness in her back forced her to lay on her belly. So caked with sludge was she, that anyone looking down at her would see nothing but a muddy tree branch.

"I can't wait this out," she whispered to herself. "Someone will come looking."

Then, one side of the sinkhole, already weakened by the rain, broke off and tumbled into the abyss, sending the mud level up another foot.

"Or maybe I'm going to die."

* * *

Oh no! Lucy is trapped, and only reviews will free her!


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

Whenever I see a guy riding a broomstick, I think, 'Wow. That must be hell on his testicles.'

* * *

"Why do you love her?" Gwen asked calmly as she turned down Caspian's bedding. The poor man was drunk as a skunk, and just as smelly. She did not envy the headache he would have come morning; but she did envy Lucy.

"She's wonderful. I've never met anyone nicer or more honest. It's like she operates on a higher level than the rest of us." His words were slurred and he had this goofy smile on. He stole occasionally ranted angrily about all things Lucy, but at least he stopped throwing things around. He already destroyed his pitcher, vessel and a set of irreplaceable cut-crystal goblets. Those were a gift from the king of Archenland.

"There's really something special about that girl," Caspian sighed while staring at the blaze in his fireplace. With the rain it had gotten very cold, although the buckets of brandy he consumed were probably keeping him toasty. The bathrobe she had to help him put on must have helped as well.

"You need to go to bed, before I kill you."

"When she's not biting my head off, there's no one sweeter or more selfless. It'll get her killed someday."

"Shut. _Up._"

Gwen hooked her hands under Caspian's arms and dragged/carried him to the bed. When he leaned heavily against her, ashamed as it made her feel, she felt an illicit thrill rush through her veins. Being this close to him was making her shiver. This was the first time they had held each other as adults, even though Gwen was doing all the holding. Even through his clothes he was so very firm, and he smelled of salt, rum and leather. He was everything male, and she was a female. Caspian electrified her very core.

"You're as heavy as a cow. What have you been eating?" Gwen groaned as she dropped Caspian onto his bed. He collapsed against the mattress, with his feet still hanging over the side.

"I hate to ask you this," he moaned as he tossed an arm over his eyes. "But I can't undress myself. Would you mind helping me out?"

Gwen nearly fainted. This was exactly what she wanted. It was the wrong situation, but it was what she wanted nonetheless.

"If you like," she answered winsomely. "I'd be happy to."

"Good. Start with my boots."

* * *

The rain fell harder, the bluff became slicker, and all around Lucy, the mud rose higher. The fear of drowning forced Lucy to sit up, agonizing as it was. There was only enough room on the rock now for her butt anyways.

Being in such excruciating pain was exhausting, and everything was starting to get blurry. It took all of her willpower just to keep upright. At least she could not see the extent of her injuries. Her left wrist, already broken in several places, had swelled to the size of a baseball. There was a deep gash on her right leg that stretched from her inner ankle to just behind her knee. It was deep enough that a hint of bone peeked out from her shredded muscles. She looked like one of Quentin Tarantino's slain silver screen sirens.

The irony of the situation did not escape her. Lucy realized that she had come to Narnia this way. She remembered falling from the sky and hitting the ground at full speed. There was a very cold river, and a very handsome boy that saved her from it.

Caspian may not have been there, but there certainly was no shortage of water. It had even washed away most of the mud from her face. If she tilted her head towards the sky at all, she would most likely drown. Still, it was nice to be somewhat cleaner. Unfortunately, the unyielding torrents were doing nothing to help her hair. With her left hand dangling uselessly at her side, she only had one free, and it was clutching the rock in vain. As much as her scalp itched and burned, there was nothing she could do.

Lucy thought her fatigue was simply from the pain, but blood loss was also slowly draining her energy. With so many devastating cuts and scrapes, she was slowly, but unstoppably bleeding out.

Maybe it was the pain, or the weather, but Lucy began to hallucinate. Things that should not have been there were as clear as day. There was a streetlight, one of those cast-iron, gas burning giants. Its light cast an eerie reflection on wet asphalt, like ghosts playing on a chalkboard. In the distance, she heard the bell chime in Parliament's Clock Tower, Big Ben. It was like England was calling her back. Maybe London was heaven, for there was certainly an angel to greet her – her mother.

But angels were supposed to be serene and immaculate. The woman Lucy saw was anything but. Tears ran down her Mummy's blood stained cheeks, sending little pink streams down her chin and neck. Marring her perfect alabaster skin was a hideous bruise that nearly covered the entire right side of her face. Her bottom lip was split, but it was all superficial damage. With a little time, everything would heal over without a single blemish.

So why was she crying? These tears had nothing to do with pain, yet everything to do with deep, soul piercing agony. Lucy cried like that at her parent's wake.

"_Oh Aslan,"_ her dream mother hiccupped. _"If you ever loved me, you would spare her."_

_Aslan? _The lion from the zoo? Was she calling to him, and not God or Jesus?

Before she could even breathe, the apparition disappeared with a gust wind and a flash of lightning.

"I'm gonna _die_," Lucy sobbed as she realized the extent of her delusions. Her dead mother was talking to an imaginary lion? Maybe she suffered brain damage on the way down. "And my hair itches!"

Then Lucy started crying, and not because of the pain. She cried for everything she would never do. She would never graduate high school, or go to college. She would not be there when Peter got home from Iraq, or when Susan got married, or even when Edmund quit smoking. She would never get one of those pretty nose piercings, the kind that looks like a piece of glitter. She would never drive an American muscle car. That meant no '73 Ford Mustang Grande.

But of all the life accomplishments she had never achieved, Lucy suddenly understood something very important.

Of all the shallow, unimportant things Lucy would never do, there were some things she had achieved that people thrice her age had never experienced. She had survived her childhood, and came out a decent teenager. She had three wonderful siblings who were her parents when she had none. Peter was a hero, Susan was a work of art, and Edmund was her best friend. Many people had wonderful brothers and sisters though, but only a few in the history of the world were as lucky as Lucy.

For she had found a man who protected her when she was helpless, clothed her when she was bare, and _loved_ her in spite of all her flaws. He followed her into a thunderstorm, and confessed his affections, even though anyone could have heard him. Caspian was in love with her, and there was no greater prize.

Another side of the sinkhole collapsed, this time taking a tree with it. There was a horrible snapping noise, and Lucy had to duck to keep from being hit by splintered branches. It was tall enough that the topmost leaves reached the other side of the depression, creating a bridge of sorts. While it blocked out the rain, it effectively hid Lucy from anyone who was looking for her – if there was anyone at all.

Yet, she was sadder for the tree. It was probably five-hundred-years-old, and it was undone with one rainstorm. Sad or not, it still sent waves of mud sloshing down around her, until she was waist deep in the muck – even though she was still on the rock. Soon she would be completely encased in gallons of dirt, rain and tree branches.

"Well… this blows," Lucy sighed in resignation. On the whole, if she was dying, it did not hurt nearly as much as she thought it would. Everything was just turning sort of fuzzy. The din sounded more like a quiet echo, rather than actual noise. She could no longer discern individual shapes or colors, it was merely a blob.

There was no white light, or anything of that sort. Things were simply going black; but there was this funny little green blob bouncing down one side of the hole. It looked sort of like a toad, only it was more grey than green; and it was chirping, not croaking.

"Are you an angel?" she asked incredulously as that funny little creature bounded onto her lap. He was no bigger than her fist, and his black eyes were as big as buttons. His wide mouth was spread in a grin, and his ridiculously long arms were longingly reaching for her.

"You remind me of Brian Froud's positive pixie, so you're no angel. I must be hallucinating." The little pixie tilted his head to one side, like a confused dog. They started at one another, sizing each other up. Then they both smiled, as if to acknowledge the other's presence.

They had met before, actually. On Lucy's first day in Narnia, when she was scratched and bruised, he came to her in the afternoon, and untangled her pretty brown locks. So while she thought he was an illusion, he thought of her as a game. And while Lucy made peace with the fact that she was losing her mind, the pixie gave in to his urges. He rubbed his two-fingered hands together in glee, and promptly jumped on her head.

He was so fast that Lucy thought he just disappeared, but then her scalp started stinging, as if somebody was pulling her hair. Little fingernails poked and prodded her hair, yanking and unraveling the numerous snarls and knots. It hurt so badly that Lucy realized that this funny little creature was no illusion – meaning there was a tiny monster playing around on her head.

There was only one thing to do in such a situation.

Scream.

* * *

Caspian was so drunk that he had no idea what was going on. Gwen took advantage of that, and spent a fair bit of time undressing him. Underneath those clothes he was so perfect, all strength and sun-kissed skin. It was hard to believe that he ate as much as he did; his body had so little fat. His chest was flat and hard, and the muscled ridges on his stomach cast the most interesting shadows. She wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of him.

"Don't worry about my pants, Gwen. I'll take them off in the morning." She smiled to cover up her disappointment and moved towards the door. Her heart sang joyfully when he halted her by grabbing her wrist. Could it be…?

Caspian frowned and whispered, "Take your hair down." His eyes were dark and indecipherable, but they were focused solely on her.

Gwen swallowed hard and groped behind her head with her free hand, pulling away the few pins she had holding her bun in place. She froze when Caspian reached forward to pull the freed locks over her shoulders. For some minutes he played with the ends of her curls, smoothing them over his knuckles. He weighed them in his palm and twirled his fingers in them, as if testing their quality.

Then he leaned towards her and pressed his nose against the crown of her head, breathing in her scent. She knew that she smelled like fresh bread and lye, which was not a good combination. However he did not seem to notice, instead pulling back to look at her. What he saw was a mystery, but she hoped it was pleasing.

Gwen would never be a great beauty, but she was not without charm. She was thin, and had some curves of her own. Asides from her unhealthy paleness, her skin was clear and unblemished. While not interesting in any way, she was not hideous to behold.

She held her breath when he pulled back and stared heavily at her face. Her eyes were wide and hopeful, and he took as a cue to kiss her. Gwen gasped as his warm, dry mouth pressed against hers, her eyes fluttering shut as his lips moved against hers. But the moment she started to reciprocate, he hissed painfully and pulled backwards sharply.

Thinking she had done something wrong, she reached for him, but Caspian slapped her hands away.

"I'm sorry, Gwen. I shouldn't have done that."

"You didn't hurt me," she said quickly. "I'd be quite if you wanted me."

Her heart broke when he smiled remorsefully.

"I don't want you. I'll never want you."

* * *

Uh oh! The review fairies are taunting me again! They say they'll break my computer if they don't get some reviews.

Hop to it people.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

Contrary to popular belief, pixies did exist, and most of them had names. Ordinarily they were called by their preferred food or plant, such as Apple, Coriander and Snapdragon. A few had the misfortune of being named for their attitude, like Thorny or Prim, for example. Some were named for the place of their birth, like Field or Cave; others for their magic, such as Heal, Hurt and Fire Starter; and some were even named for their favorite animal, for instance Night Owl and Sandy Toad. There were a few, however, that were never given names. Their mothers simply forgot.

These unnamed souls were actually the lucky ones. Those named at birth were tied to their names. Their lives would always be dictated by one word, one moment in their mothers' arms. Pixies without a birth name had the pleasure of naming themselves. They would pass longs hours pondering their world, small as it was. What was their favorite food? Did they like sleeping past noon? Was the river really as cold as it looked?

The particular pixie tormenting Lucy was very proud of his name. His mother had been eating too many figs around the time of his birth, and all of his siblings were consequently named Fig. He dashed away before she could curse him to a life of conformity, and decided that he almost felt bad about doing so. Then he realized that he liked the word 'almost', but that was not good enough. So he thought of synonyms, which was amazing, considering his mind was no more complicated than a pebble. Of all the synonyms for almost, he enjoyed slightly more than any other; and so his name was Slightly.

However, he was more than slightly annoyed with Lucy. Why was she splashing around when her hair was more tangled than a patch of thorns? It could only be uncomfortable, being trapped in all that dirt. Why suffer a gnarled mane as well?

Slightly chirped, deeply surprised as he was swatted against the rock. How rude! Just as he was about to squeak reproachfully, she slid off the boulder and disappeared into the mire. He had only a second to stare in shock as the last few of her dark locks vanished into the mud. Wonderful, now his whole afternoon was ruined.

Hmm… she had been down there for a while. Humans had to breathe - at least someone had told him that. Maybe this one had gills. Something was bothering Slightly though. During their last meeting, he saw no funny slits in her neck. The most he saw were infected scratches over her collarbone.

Slightly pondered the question with his whole brain, before realizing that fish breathed water, not mud. That was superfluous, since humans breathed air.

There were some things his conscience could handle, like setting fire to fairy wings. The death of a helpless soul was not one of those things. But what to do! She weighed, like, a billion pounds. Pulling her out was suicidal.

However, Glenstorm _was_ just a mile to the north, maybe even less. Such a big, strapping centaur could retrieve and revive her. What else were those mutant horses good for?

Despite his little green booger of a body, when it came to magic, his voice was booming. Slightly closed his eyes; focused all of his thoughts to a single point; and let out a gust of pure energy so strong, that even the stupidest human was bound to feel a pinch.

Glenstorm certainly felt like he had been punched in the nuts.

* * *

Gwen stared at Caspian with such anger that she could feel it burning her own eyes. He put her through years of turmoil and disappointed dreams, and this is how he repaid her? She put up with bloody knuckles, scalding hot water, and miles of laundry, just to tell her he would never want her?

"I've given up _everything_ for you," she whispered hatefully. "I've spent hours shining your boots and ironing your shirts, and this is the thanks I get?"

His sigh hurt almost as much as his rejection. "I just don't love you Gwen. We've been friends for years, and it hasn't happened yet. I don't think it'll ever happen."

She scoffed and hiccupped all at once. "But you're in love with Lucy, and you've only known her a few months! How has she risen so quickly in your esteem? Has she ensnared you in the way we all suspect?"

The hand that clapped around her wrist like iron was frighteningly strong. "Don't you ever insinuate such things again. That kind of gossip can get you fired, or something even worse."

The tears came faster than she wanted them to. "Are you threatening me?"

Caspian 's eyes were colder and harder than ice. "It's not a threat when you're a prince."

He was a monster, and she was in love with him. That made her a fool.

But no longer.

"As you wish, your majesty."

* * *

The face in the mirror across from Prunapismia was absolutely beautiful. Her cheeks were high, her skin was flawless and milky brown, and what few wrinkles she had made her look wise, but not old. This was the face of a queen – a pregnant queen at that.

She found out just a few hours ago. Vomiting was nothing new to her. There was no reason her girlish body had to suffer when roasted songbirds and quail eggs were on the menu. She was particularly susceptible to almond-chocolate cake as well.

However, the nausea, mood swings and ever-swelling breasts were something new entirely. The first two she dealt with on a daily basis. The third, nice and figure flattering as it was, she never expected.

Having suspicions of her own, she sought out the most discreet doctor she could. He gave her the news she had always been waiting for.

Prunapismia was having a royal baby, possibly the crown prince. Or she would have been, were it not for that pithy Caspian. The moody bastard had no thought for his country. He only thought of himself, and that silly little plaything he loved. The idea of Lucy being queen was repulsive. She was more focused on being young than being responsible.

If Prunapismia had any hope of placing her child on the throne, Caspian and Lucy had to go. But there was a tiny, nagging piece of doubt lingering in her mind. It was probably nothing, and definitely not true, but it was there. It made her sick with fear, but there was a small part of her that rejoiced.

It all had to do with a memory.

A wonderful and heart breaking memory.

* * *

_No relationship was perfect, but Prunapismia and Miraz's suffered more than most. He was aloof and cold, and most of the time he was away. There were troops to inspect, dignitaries to entertain, peasant women to enjoy... Sometimes she went weeks without seeing him. Even when he was by her side, things were rough. They were both abrasive and stubborn. Sometimes it was good to have something in common. Other times it left her in tears._

_On those nights she liked hiding in the armory. It was quiet after midnight, and the light reflected on the weapons was almost beautiful. Everything glittered in silver and gold, although there was only iron and steel to be found._

_Their latest fight was particularly nasty. She questioned his masculinity, and he called her a whore. It was the one insult she always took to heart._

_As she sat there, nestled between two suits of armor, she was ashamed of her sobbing. Every day, she passed herself off as the picture of cool, calm collection. No one was as icy or impenetrable as the lady Prunapismia. She would be queen one day. There was no room for emotions._

_Just when she thought it was safe to bawl like a baby, she heard footsteps just outside the door. They were heavy and thudded loudly against the marble – those belonged to no serving wench. The fear of being found out had her covering her mouth to keep quiet. Her hiccups, trapped in her throat with no way to go, were starting to choke her. But there was no way she was going to be found out._

_As the door opened, she pressed herself as close to the wall as possible. Hopefully the darkness would be on her side tonight. Somebody shuffled into the room, and the shadow on the wall was large and broad. This was a man! Was it the king? He did not know that she hid down there._

_She shook with fright as the unknown man meandered past rows of swords and spears. This armory was more of a museum than a storeroom. It was a long, skinny corridor with only the most beautiful weapons on display. Most of the items had never seen battle. There was even some brass, copper and bronze scattered among the more common metals._

_Prunapismia could hear the clattering of chainmail coming closer and closer. King Miraz had not come to apologize._

_It was Glozelle, and he had come to put away an axe._

_Why did it have to be him? He had taken enough away from her. He had no right to see her like this. Besides, he had already seen her at her worst._

_From her hiding place, she saw him carefully put the axe away. Then he lifted a sword from its rack, and drew it from its scabbard. Glozelle judged it with open consideration, inspecting every bolt and edge. He was meticulous with everything he handled – even her._

_They were both on the wrong side of thirty, but he was still so handsome. His face had more lines now, but it was still beautiful in so many ways. The fact that it no longer belonged to her introduced a new wave of tears. Before she could stop herself, a sob crept past her woven fingers. _

_It was nothing more than a squeak, similar to a mouse's, but Glozelle clearly heard it. He growled harshly and swung around, the tip of his sword aimed at her hiding place. His eyes were livid as they stared down the sharp blade. But when he saw Prunapismia's red and tear-soaked face, he dropped the rapier so quickly, it might as well have been a venomous snake._

"_Mia!," he breathed as he fell to his knees before her. His large, scarred hands cupped her cheeks lovingly as he wiped away the salty rivulets. He was so gentle, and it only made her snivel harder. This was a man whom she scorned, and here he was, caring for her well-being. They could have been married!_

"_What's wrong? Are you injured? Do you need a doctor? Are you cold?" He asked a million pointless questions in a rough but warm voice meant only for her. He spoke like that when they were alone, when there was nothing between them but the night and their own skin. Now there was everything separating them, and he still used that tone._

"_When did I become such a monster?" It was a question meant to startle him, but Glozelle only smiled unhappily._

"_You're not a monster, but this is what you wanted. You didn't want me."_

_She slapped his hands away. "I wanted you more than everything! But when I needed you to stay, you left!"_

_He only sighed._

"_I had no right to make you wait. I guess… I couldn't go after two dreams at once." He lightly took hold of her shoulders, his fingers massaging her stiff muscles. At first his calmness was startling, but this close she could smell the rum on his breath. He would not remember anything in the morning. He never did. _

_She what she wanted to do would get her killed if anyone found out, but he would never tell, because he would have no memory of tonight._

_The need for physical comfort from someone she loved was strong, strong enough that she bent forward and kissed him._

_He kissed her back._

* * *

But it was just a memory, nothing more and nothing to worry about.

She picked up her ivory comb and began brushing her lustrous black curls.

"I wanted you more than everything. Hmph."

Crashing loudly through the door, a weeping Gwen stumbled in with a basket full of socks. Her face was red and her entire body shook with hiccups.

The young woman placed the laundry bin on Prunapismia's bed and stopped to scrub her cheeks. Her spectacle, while amusing, was deeply troubling. Gwen was hard and reserved. Only a few things made her cry, the most obvious being Caspian.

Prunapismia paused.

"What's wrong, Gwen?"

* * *

Woohoo! Another chapter, another chance to whore myself for reviews.

I'm good at the whoring part.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

Lucy died.

Or she thought she did. She'd swallowed a mouthful of mud and stopped breathing. Everything went black and the pain disappeared, at least momentarily. The water was no longer wet, because her skin no longer recognized any sensation. She'd effectively died.

But she never went to heaven. She didn't go to hell either. Lucy floated somewhere between life, death, and the afterlife. Close to each, but too far to really belong to any one world. She just needed a gentle push, or a helping hand.

Maybe even a hoof or two.

Then her floating turned to sinking, and the pain came back stronger than ever; but in a very orderly fashion, which was unexpected. First her legs began to ache again. The mud was gone, but something rough and sticky was pressing the edges of her cuts together. It was like somebody had found a box of used Band-Aids in place of proper stitches. The split seams in her skin now were bound too tightly, and it made her long for open wounds.

That was just the start of her agony. She felt scrubbed, as if somebody had cleaned her from head to toe with sand paper and ammonia. Even her eyelids were too clean.

It was her wrist that ached the most. Lucy had never broken any major bones. She'd broken her toes a few times playing tag, and once dislocated her ankle kicking Edmund's ass one day when he called her a fat cow. This was worse. It was worse than sticking her hand in a meat grinder, and then in lemon juice. Lucy wasn't even sure she had any fingers left. Hell, she could've been experiencing phantom pain, or whatever Peter called it when his friend's lost their limbs.

"I think she's waking," said a man with a mild, kind voice.

"Oh, that's just _wonderful_. What do we do now? We can't keep the stupid cow." The other man's voice was less kind and mild. In fact, he was a douche.

"If we left her for dead, we'd be no different than King Miraz or his pawn Caspian."

"Trufflehunter, I swear by the stars above, someday your conscience will catch up to the rest of us, and realize that all humans are scum. This one, though small and frilly, is no different."

Lucy frowned. "Caspian's not a pawn," she groaned as she wrinkled her brow. "At least not my Caspian."

The mild-mannered man gasped. "She's not a Telmarine! That's a non-rhotic accent!"

"A what?" the douche seethed.

A sigh from the mild one. "She speaks like the rest of us, you half wit. Hence, she's not like Caspian or Miraz."

"But she knows them intimately. She said _my_ Caspian. Perhaps she's betrothed to him. Perhaps she's his whore. We should toss her back in that pit where we found her."

Lucy tried flexing the fingers of her left hand, but they were splinted straight with what felt like twigs and cotton balls. Her wrist was bound in a splint as well, but it was swollen to the size of a grapefruit and steadily throbbing with her pulse. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand…

"Is my arm broken?" she asked groggily as she futilely fought to lift said arm, but it wouldn't budge. Something else was pressing on her chest insistently, like a barbell or a small cat. It was likely to be some sort of cat, as it was purring insistently. But cats weren't slimy or cold, and they certainly didn't have long fingers.

"Yes, my dear," the kind man whispered as he touched her forehead. His hand was tiny, and his nails were incredibly sharp. However, the fur between his fingers was incredibly soft, link a mink's. "We've bandaged it the best we can, but if the swelling doesn't go down, we're going to bleed you with leeches."

That sounded absolutely _disgusting_.

"Please don't do that. Dear God, _please_ don't do that." Tears forced Lucy's eyes open despite the painful salt crusting in the corners. "I beg of you, leeches are…"

There was a badger above her. An actual badger. Like, a brock. It was black and white and fuzzy all over. And it was wearing gold wire, almost coke bottle glasses. It was talking too, in a very sweet, soothing voice.

"We could use a knife, but leech saliva numbs your skin." Lucy's eyes were as wide like tea cups and just as thirsty. She gave the badger a heavy once-over. He was short and pudgy, but somehow he was standing on his two hind legs, and his thumbs looked awfully opposable.

"Have I been drugged? Lithium? Um… lithium?" The badger shook his head no and patted her cheek with his little paw. It was soft and warm, and on a badger. The badger was touching her. Badgers were in the same family as weasels.

"No dear, nothing like that. You're just incredibly weak right, and your stomach's probably rock hard from all the mud you swallowed. Your lung's are probably heavy too, but you coughed most of the dirt out already. That's why your throat burns."

The badger was right. Her throat _did _burn, but she couldn't feel it at all. Because there was a badger speaking to her in a soft tenor, and now he was petting her hair. Weren't badgers supposed to be pet themselves?

"I'm sorry," Lucy groaned with a weak chuckle. "But I must've hit my head, because right now you look like a badger, and badgers don't talk."

"They do, you halfwit wench," the douche said as he leaned over her. Only he wasn't a douche. He was a dwarf with a round nose. Since he was a dwarf, did that make her Snow White? Had she recently eaten any poisoned apples?

"Are apples red or green here? I know some American apples are pink?"

"She's daft!" the dwarf said cruelly. "Talking about apples when she's this close to death."

Lucy gasped. "Am I dying?"

"Possibly," the badger breathed. "But I think you're going to be just fine."

"Then why am I close to death?"

"Because I want to _kill_ you," the dwarf hissed.

Lucy blinked.

"Oh."

* * *

Caspian _hated_ sleeping with his mouth open. Inevitably, his tongue was as thick as a sausage and tasted like musky cotton in the morning. His teeth felt fuzzy and were as dry as Glozelle's humor, causing his lips to stick to them like glue on parchment.

Then there was his head, which had been pummeled to a bloody pulp thanks to his hangover. It felt like someone had taken a rusty mace to his forehead, and then taken a piss on the open wound. Graphic, but accurate.

Moaning like a wounded animal, he scrubbed at his face with his fingernails and cuddled one of his pillows close to his chest. It smelled like Lucy and was just as warm.

'_Lucy.'_ The name drifted into his mind slowly, like a whisper traveling through fog. _'If she's half as drunk as me, then she's probably hurting right now.'_

"Oh wait," he groaned as he swiped the drool of his chin with his left hand. "I'm pissed at her. That bitch turned me down."

"That _bitch_ never came home last night."

"Glozelle? What are you doing in my room?" Caspian blinked forcibly a few times, trying to see past his drunken haze. Glozelle was sitting by the fire on his favorite leather couch, wearing very muddy boots and a full-length, leather riding coat. It was wet.

"What did you say last night?" Glozelle seethed as he stood up. "What did you do that made her run off with no idea where she was going?"

"What time is it? Is that rain?" What Glozelle was saying wasn't connecting with the situation.

"Are you listening? Lucy is _gone_. She's gone and she's lost, and you're asking about the time?"

"Yes. What time is it?"

Glozelle started grinding his teeth in anger. "It's four in the morning, and it's been raining for nearly half a day. The Great River has swollen to twice its size, and I have a feeling Lucy is on the other side of it.

"Then go get her. I'm not her keeper." Caspian glared at the general and tugged a pillow over his head, the one that smelled like Lucy. Even angry at her, her scent was one of the only things that could soothe his headache.

"Are you even listening?" Glozelle yelled, ripping the covers off of Caspian as soon as he'd finished stomping over. "A young girl who's barely hit puberty, who has no skill with a map or compass, is LOST in the woods."

Caspian tried to claw his way back under the comforter, but Glozelle was pinning him on his back to the mattress.

"I don't care how angry you are at her for being sane! Because sane is what she is." Glozelle shook him hard enough to rattle Caspian's teeth. "You are no prize, and looking at you right now, I know you never will be. But why don't you _try_ to prove your worth and go after her?!"

"Because I drank like a fish last night and nearly had sex with Gwen. She'll be fine for one night." Caspian closed his eyes and tried relaxing, and his efforts were almost rewarded. That is, until Glozelle delivered one more bombshell.

"Doris came home last night with cuts on her hindquarters, and one of Lucy's shoes caught in her stirrups. There was blood on it."

Inebriation had taken such a strong hold of Caspian's mind that the only thoughts he had were of Lucy as a cold-hearted bitch with a very active menstrual system (though he wasn't sure just how it worked – no man did or ever would). But, still, Lucy's bleeding was certainly a disturbing possibility, even though she'd broken his heart.

"If you want me to go after her, just give me a few minutes to vomit and put some boots on." Glozelle gave him one more painful shove and let him go.

"I will do my best to cover your tracks, but you forget that I am your _uncle's_ general, not yours. I am no longer able to protect you. You're on your own now," Glozelle said as he walked away. He slammed the door behind him on his way out.

Caspian stared blankly at the velvet canopy above his head. No one had ever said no to him. He gave and took everything with single-minded intensity. Women were an easy conquest, but a child who had a plain face and mud beneath her broken fingernails rebuffed his efforts with scorn. In his anger, he realized that Lucy really wasn't anything special. She wasn't a great beauty, she had no curves and a very rude personality.

He loved her in spite of those faults, which was wrong in some ways. He was an adult, she wasn't. He was sexually active, she wasn't. He was royalty, she wasn't. And when she turned him down, she reacted violently. He **almost** wanted to return that violence.

But… but she was out in the rain. She'd been out there for a while. In the woods, where there were actual bears and wolves. As fast as she was on foot, she was missing a shoe. Sure, she had tough soles and heels, but they weren't made for rocks and sticks. They were made for dancing.

Just because he was angry at her, it didn't mean that he couldn't rescue her. He was still a prince, and she was still his charge. Besides, with Glozelle on Miraz's team, there was no one else who could help her now.

Heaving a sigh, Caspian slung his legs over the edge of the bed and tried licking the taste of dust off his teeth. Outside, a particularly loud blast of thunder shook the entire castle, and the rain drove down harder. The drops of water fell as hard as hail in a hurricane.

Curious, Caspian shuffled over to the window. The clouds were so thick that they blotted out the sun, and the grass had disappeared under inches of mud washing down from the mountains.

"Where are you Lucy?"

* * *

Oh where, oh where could Lucy be?

I'm not sure at this point. On a different note, this story is super OOC. And you know what? I really don't care at this point. I'm sorry if it bothers some of you, I really am, because this is truly your story. But I just can't pull a 180 right now. Maybe they'll be more canon in the sequel, but they just won't be for this story.

...

Oops!

I think I just let you guys in on a big secret.


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight

"I say we kill her!"

"She has no right to be here!"

"A little girl leads, soldiers follow. You _know_ how humans can act when it comes to missing little girls."

"They've acted as judge and jury for nearly a millennium. It's our turn!"

"A life for a life. The Telmarines have killed thousands of us. It's time to level the score."

It seemed like there were hundreds of voices chanting for Lucy's death, each one louder than the last. None of them were human.

A little more than an hour ago, when the rain had stopped, an enormous centaur had dragged into some ruins by the scruff of her neck. Maybe once it had been some sort of amphitheatre or open-air forum. Now it was just piles of marble and crumbling statues. Standing amongst the broken columns were animals and monsters of all kinds. There were mice, deer, wolves, griffons, fauns… everything that could lend to her imagination was there.

At first she thought it was nothing _but_ her imagination. It seemed impossible that her stay in Narnia could be more fantastic. Weren't medieval Spaniards strange enough? Did she really need a murderous, anthropomorphic zoo deciding her fate? It was 'Alice in Wonderland' or 'Willow' come to life.

Part of her, surprisingly, was completely unfazed. 999,999 things had already gone terribly wrong. Why not make it a million? She'd fallen in love with a handsome prince. Weren't fairy tale creatures the next logical step?

The other part of her was terrified beyond comprehension. She was broken and battered from head to toe, and practically naked as she knelt on the ground, surrounded by bloodthirsty beasts. Her voice was frozen in her throat. Even her breath was silent. There was no expression on her face, nothing underneath her bruised eyes and split lower lip.

Thankfully they'd left her in her yellow camisole and white skirt, but there were so many holes and tears that they had been reduced to ribbons. The only thing keeping her decent were the bandages wrapped around her chest.

"What can we do?!" a dwarf who was called Nikabrik cried out venomously. He had stringy grey hair and a dirty beard. "Either she dies, or we'll all be killed. There is no other option."

"Have we really become the animals they've forced us to be?" the badger said sadly to his companion, the centaur. He obviously was not addressing the crowd.

"Not even that," the centaur replied. "Only humans murder for the sake of murdering. Even the basest animals kill only when they are hungry."

"Well, they are hungry for something," the badger sighed.

"I can't abide by this," the centaur seethed, clomping onto the main floor on his four sturdy legs. "Enough! Silence!"

The crowd quieted until not even a murmur was heard. Their silence was almost worse than their shouting. Lucy stared up at the centaur, who stared back at her with a heavy black gaze.

"You, girl, are a foreigner and clearly not welcome here. Do you deny it?"

Lucy shook her head.

"Earlier, when you spoke, it became clear that you know Prince Caspian personally. Do you deny that either?"

Again, Lucy shook her head.

"Then what are we to do with you?" he asked as he circled around her. From the bottoms of his hooves to the tips of his pointed ears, he was probably nine feet tall. "You cannot go back. I doubt you'll even survive the trip, and you certainly can't be trusted to keep your mouth shut."

Lucy turned her eyes to the ground, unable to tell him that she couldn't go back. There was nothing to go back to anyway.

The centaur must've sensed her unease, because he came to rest just before her, standing firm and still.

"There is innocence in your eyes, little one," he whispered. "Fear, confusion, and innocence. Your voice is the only thing that will save you. Now is the time to use it."

"What would you have me say?" Lucy breathed nervously. "I will not weep and beg for mercy."

"Then tell us how you got here."

"I ran away," she began cautiously.

"_Louder_."

"I ran away!" she yelled out, wilting immediately. "I was stupid and I ran away!"

"What were you running away from?" a familiar voice joined in. It was Trumpkin, the reddish dwarf. He was only a bit taller than her kneeling form.

"Prince Caspian." Her voice was guarded, neither bitter nor listless.

"What did Prince Caspian do?" This time, the badger spoke.

"He killed a man." Now there was poison in her tone.

"Did he deserve it?" Trumpkin drawled.

"Even if he did, it doesn't matter. No crime warrants death."

Even Nikabrik was surprised by her statement. All around, the animals gasped and gawked at her in shock. Did they really think she was a murderer?

"Do you honestly believe that, or are you trying to con us into keeping you alive?" the badger asked. Though she didn't know him, such suspicion was surprising coming from his mouth.

"If you're going to kill me, please do it soon. I'm in enough pain as it is." As if they couldn't see that. The skin that wasn't wrapped in bandages was bruised and red. Her face was no longer pale and perfect. Both of her eyes were solidly purple, and the left side of her jaw was scraped. Then there was her broken wrist and the cut on her thigh.

"You're right," the centaur chimed in. "No crime warrants death. But you still haven't told us how you got here."

"I told you. I ran away." What more did they want from her?

"But that is not how you came to Narnia, is it? You did not run here, nor you did you arrive by boat or caravan. How did you come here?" Lucy gaped at the centaur. How would he have known that about her? She'd told no one, not even Caspian. He just thought that she'd appeared out of thin air.

For a while, she didn't say anything. This had been her secret, one she was still afraid to say aloud. But if it would save her life…

"A lion brought me here. He hooked his claws into my shoulders and dragged me to the river." She swallowed past a lump in her throat. "His name was Aslan."

The centaur's eyes widened, and all around her, there were shocked whispers and murmurs of disbelief.

"There are claw marks on my shoulder if you don't believe me," Lucy continued as firmly as she could manage. "He was very big, and his eyes were golden. Somehow he knew my mother, though I'm not sure how."

All of this was speculation, because she still wasn't sure if her memory was really just the memory of a dream. But as she said it for the first time ever, the more it seemed like the truth; and while it was strange, it gave her confidence.

"Who was your mother? Was she a princess?" the centaur urged gently.

"She was a housewife. Occasionally she helped our neighbors with their laundry. If that makes her a laundress, then she was a laundress.

"And just how would a common laundress know Aslan?" Nikabrik hissed from his place on the sidelines. "The Great Lion had no time for humans."

"I don't know how they knew each other, but he loved her – enough that she could make bargains with him."

The badger's eyes were hard, but not cruel as he spoke. "What sort of bargains?"

_What sort of bargain?_

It was there, right on the edge of her memory, drawing her deeper into the hidden recesses of her mind. Until then, she had known nothing about it, but it was all coming back to her now.

"I was dying."

* * *

_It was her eleventh birthday. That year she didn't want to go to the zoo. She didn't want to go to breakfast. She wanted to put on a pretty gown, and go out to a play, or maybe the ballet! And she didn't want her siblings tagging along. It was __**her**__ night._

_So, her mother took her shopping, and together they picked out the prettiest dress in all of England. It was champagne-colored and sleeveless, with a full skirt and a shining, red satin sash around the waist. There were even pearl buttons on the back! Then they picked out a pair of golden ballet flats, and lacy scarlet gloves._

_But Lucy was nothing compared to her mother. The colder weather allowed for richer fabrics. She wore a one-shouldered gown made of plum silk velvet. It had a fitted empire bodice and a full, gently gathered skirt. On the shoulder was a jeweled ornament, like silver leaves and white jewels._

_That night, her beauty was shining and overpowering. Her black hair was styled simply, left to fall down her back in a waterfall of black curls. There was very little make-up clouding her flawless, ivory skin – just a coating of mascara and a glaze of Vaseline on her lips._

"_You look absolutely splendid," Lucy said as they were driving to Sadler's Wells. "Like a princess or a swan! If you were to look in a mirror, your reflection would last for a year and a day!"_

_Her father, dressed smartly in his leather gloves and black wool coat, laughed at her from the driver's seat. "You're the princess tonight, sweetheart. This is all about you. Although I have to agree with you. Your mother is gorgeous."_

"_Stop it, you two," her mother chuckled. "You're making me blush." Then she turned around, as Lucy was sitting in the back of the car._

"_Tonight __**is**__ all about you, Lucy. I hope you know how much we love you."_

_Lucy smiled. "I love you, Mummy. You too, Daddy."_

"_And we love you, sweetheart," her father said just before their Volvo was rammed by a speeding taxi, sending the small sedan tumbling into a streetlight. The car flipped upside down in a shower of glass and crumbling metal._

_Lucy's world went black, but when she awoke, she felt no pain. She couldn't feel anything, nor could she move. She could only see her mother's tears._

"_Lucy! Lucy!" her mother cried as she rocked them back and forth. "Stay with me!"_

_But Lucy couldn't stay. There was blood in her mouth, and she was having trouble breathing around it. _

"_Oh Aslan," her mother hiccupped. "If you ever loved me, you would spare her."_

"_Who's Aslan?" Lucy coughed, sending spatters of blood dribbling down her chin. She was tired, so tired. All she wanted to do was sleep._

"_I love you, Lucy," her mother wept as she kissed Lucy's forehead. "This is for you. Never forget me."_

_Before the world went away, Lucy had only one thing to say._

"_I love you, Mummy."_

* * *

She was there, in the car with her parents on the night they died. Her father died instantly. He felt no pain. Lucy had been struck in the throat, neatly severing her spinal cord and crushing her esophagus. Her lungs had flooded with blood. But her mother was fine. Asides from some bruising on her face, she would recover and live until her time came. But somehow, she traded in her life for her daughter's, leading to this one moment of comprehension and fate.

"I was dying, and my mother had Aslan save me. In return, she offered her life. She died."

Lucy could feel wetness streaming down her cheeks, but it wasn't her hands wiping her tears away. It was the badger.

"Your mother's sacrifice was true and pure. Of course Aslan would listen to her, but that doesn't tell us how you came here, or why."

"I don't know why I'm here," she replied quietly. "But I want to go home. I don't want to be here anymore."

"That is not for you to decide," the centaur said firmly. "Clearly, there is some purpose for you, otherwise Aslan wouldn't have cared a whit."

"Then what happens now?" she asked.

"For now, my dear," the badger intoned, "For now, you rest."

* * *

I have only one thing to say to all of you!

REVIEW!


	30. One Shot: Hiding

Here it is. 5,000 words worth of fluff.

* * *

Miraz had very strict rules for his personal guard detail. The men had to be skilled swordsmen, expert archers, and superb at hand to hand fighting. They were disciplined, valiant, and willing to die for their king. At least that is what the contract said. To remain mobile at all times, they were required to remain unmarried and childless. Miraz claimed that this was a service unto them. If they had no families, their death would not result in grieving. In reality, Miraz just did not want to have to pay insurance to mournful widows.

It was an undoubtedly lonely life for some of the soldiers. All around them, their brothers and sisters, and sometimes their parents were having babies. Even the hardened Glozelle wondered what kind of father he could have been.

Which is why Lucy was so beloved by Caspian's sentries. Though she had turned the castle on its head, they could not imagine a day without her. She had become the daughter they could not have. Sure, they were sometimes confounded by her childish pranks, but not a day went by when they were not indulging her ebullience.

Lucy was everything a daughter could be; bubbly, kind-hearted, and entirely too disobedient. She was only serene and subdued whenever it was required of her. Because she was not a member of the Telmarine court, she had to be tucked away whenever there were formal functions. Balls, feasts, weddings… she was not allowed to attend any of them. Even her breakfast was served in the garden, well away from the dining room. She did not mind though – the guards were always willing to entertain her.

They held tea parties and baked cakes, picked flowers and played games. They soon discovered Lucy's favorite game was hide-and-go-seek. The castle was so large that sometimes a game could go on for hours. But because it was foreign to her, she often picked obvious hiding spots. Her giggling did not help her attempts to be stealthy either.

One of the benefits perks of the game was keeping Lucy away from Miraz. Whenever he was cross with her, Glozelle would push the soldiers for a quick game. That way, whenever Miraz questioned the sentries about her whereabouts, they could safely state that they had no idea where she was. Miraz would leave frustrated, and Lucy would remain unscathed.

Sometimes, their plan backfired. Lucy would wander into off-limit rooms, like the royal treasury, or Miraz's personal pantry. Miraz would have probably remained ignorant of the invasion, had Lucy not eaten an entire box of chocolate. The King had been especially furious when Lucy disturbed his chess game with a Calormene Tarkaan; though when the stout, bushy-bearded man suggested that the bet include Lucy, he almost considered losing just to get rid of her. In the end, Miraz liked winning too much to purposefully admit defeat. That, and he won a chest of rubies.

The one person who did not benefit from the game was Caspian. He was always studying and perfecting his sword skills. When he was not, he was playing prince to any nobility that happened to be in the castle. Most of the time, he was having lunch with court maidens or playing poker with aging dukes. Many hours were wasted attending jousting tournaments with nameless aristocratic families or merchants.

What were worse were the times when titled young men would come to call on Lucy when they thought he did not know. It irked him to no end that Lucy was always polite and indulged them for a walk in the garden or a spot of tea.

And whenever he could devote a few moments of time to nothing but her, he was either too exhausted, or she was already asleep. On those nights, he would consider awakening her just for conversation. Then he would realize how hard palace life was on her. He was constantly reminding himself that she was far from home, and would probably return to her country one day – leaving Narnia and him behind.

But on some nights, when the tension settled too thickly on his shoulders, he stole away to her bedroom through one of the many secret passageways he had discovered. On those nights, he would kneel by the side of the bed, lingering just long enough to press his lips to her forehead.

There was no doubt as to where his affections laid. He did not know how long he had been infatuated with her, but he knew that she made him giddy and uneasy. Caspian could not decide whether it was her beauty or spirit that captivated him, and he did not care to find out. Thinking about it gave him a headache, and only distracted him from the object of his fascination.

He could count the number of private moments he'd had with her on one hand. They were few and far between, but they were deeply intimate and provided great insight into her mind.

They were not always happy moments, but they were always honest.

* * *

_The palace had stopped being interesting to him the moment his father died. He had long outgrown his urge to explore and discover. He knew every hallway, every door, and never got lost. Before, when his father was still alive, they would wander aimlessly and check every room for treasure. They had quickly unearthed every secret, until they were just taking walks together. And then it ended. The splendor of the palace was wasted on Caspian, ambivalent as he was._

_It was because of his disinterest that he did not think of Lucy, and her tendency to wander._

_One rainy, thundering night, when sleep evaded him, he lay in the dark, tossing and turning in his bed. He was no stranger to insomnia; in fact, it was his most loyal adversary. But he was on edge that night. It felt like there was a threat in every shadowed corner. The castle's typical nightly noises sound like the whisperings of conspiring assassins. His heart beat loudly in his ears, warning him of every danger, both real and imagined._

_Just as he felt he could close his eyes and rest his fatigued soul, light seeped into his room from under the door, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. In an instant he was alert in his bed, quickly throwing on a crisp white tunic over his cropped sleeping pants. His hands itched for a sword, but he settled on an easily hidden dagger. Like a true hunter, he waited several moments before he went after the intruder._

_As stealthy as wolf patrolling its territory, he followed the flickering light as it moved through the halls, seemingly aimless as it ambled down stairways and through corridors. His bare feet slid silently across marble floors and Calormene carpets. He was a shadow on the floor, a ghost in the hall. His quarry was rather clumsy in the night, as obvious as a red rose in a white bouquet. Whoever they were, they did not even attempt to be sly._

_He was waiting for the person to make one mistake, fall idle for once second. But they moved of their own accord, content to peruse at their own speed._

_Eventually, whoever it was entered one of the rarely used ballrooms. Truly senseless, they left the door open behind them. And it was the only way in and out of the room. Unknowingly, they had trapped themselves, and would have to get through Caspian to reach freedom. He allowed himself a victorious smirk as he slipped in through the door, one hand on the hilt of the dagger hidden behind his back._

_But just as he was about to pounce, he was stopped dead in his tracks by the target of his game._

_It was Lucy, delicate and ivory in the candle's glow. He was struck speechless by the sight of her in her slip nightgown. He released the dagger as if it had burn him, suddenly afraid of it. He could have killed her, stabbed her out of rashness and impatience. His throat tightened at the thought of hurting her. Desperate to know she was indeed alive and well, he took another step into the room, closing the door behind him._

"_Lucy," he said quietly, his voice breaking slightly. She gasped, dropping the candle as she spun around quickly. The flame went out, leaving them with only the scant moonlight peaking through the rain clouds._

_As she faced him, her hand flew to her throat as she gasped for breath. He had not meant to startle her. All they could for some moment was stare at each other – him bashful and ashamed, she wary and gasping. And then she let out a few quiet giggles, releasing his heart from its iron grip._

"_You scared me for a second there," she joked as she rocked back on her heels. He could see her smile in the cool, grey light. He answered with one of his own._

"_I'm sorry." There was a certain heaviness to that phrase. He was sorry – sorry for her mistreatment by Miraz, sorry for the sniping quips made at her expense, sorry that he was not there to shield her._

"_Don't worry about it." She sounded light, airy, and sleepy. When lightning flashed, he could see her bare shoulders and shapely collarbones, the lean muscle in her arms. She was, how did she put it? Oh yes, a tomboy. _

"_You are not like the ladies of the court here."_

_Her eye brows furrowed together, her confusion evident._

"_No, I'm not. Is that a problem?" Though she teased, he knew any more suggestive questions would have him skating on thin ice._

"_I did not mean in that way. I meant it in a good way. I don't have a very high opinion of them."_

_He must have said the right thing. Even in the dark, he could see her expression lighten. "I'm not either. I don't see why they're something to aspire to."_

_She turned her back to him, padding lightly to the windows. They reached from the floor to the ceiling, and spanned from wall to wall. The light in the room was magnificent in the day, but it afforded no privacy to the occupants. Miraz fell in with some rather shady characters, and insisted on using easily closed off the rooms._

_Against the grand panes of glass, Lucy looked positively tiny, as she often did in the castle. Everything was so grand and opulent, whereas she was earthy and unadorned. His earlier behavior forced him forward, until he was standing next to her. Her eyes were focused on something in the storm – his were solely on her. She must have felt his stare, for she looked up at him quickly and laughed in a rather self-conscious manner._

"_What?"She asked laughingly, her eyes shining with mirth and confusion._

"_Are you happy here, with me?" The easy laughter fell from her expression. In its place was confusion and shock. As she stared up at him in silence, he wondered if he had asked the wrong question. And then she sighed, her eyes returning to the land beyond the window. The solemnity radiated off of her in waves, and he awaited what he knew would be a devastating blow._

"_I cannot say that I am unhappy," she said tersely. "But I don't belong here. This is not my home."_

_Caspian licked his dry lips. "It could be." He was surprised by how rough and uncertain he sounded. _

_Her smile was a balm, soothing his fears, though not healing them._

"_It can't, but…"_

_He watched, spellbound, as she slipped her fair hand into his larger one. It was a natural and involuntary action as his fingers tightened around hers._

"_You can be my home for now."Caspian had never heard anything more poignant. He suddenly wished he were a poet and not a soldier; then he would have known what to say to her. _

_She then leaned her head against his shoulder. And as he wrapped his arms around her, he realized that words were not needed._

* * *

Caspian remembered holding her for hours that night, until her sleepy yawn forced him to relinquish her. He could not describe it as happy, but it was certainly wondrous. And, looking back, he realized he could have kissed her. She felt so good in his arms, all he would have had to do was bend down and…

He shook his head of the thought. Now was the time for purpose, not focusing on disappointed hopes. He was on his was to see Lucy! There was no time to live in the past, when she made for a much better present.

As he walked through the corridor, he was somewhat put off by the utter silence. Most of the time, there was the shuffling of footsteps or the murmured conversations of servants. But there was nothing. Even the air was eerily still. He slowed down, looking for some movement. He even opened doors and cupboards just to find mice.

Instead, he found Lucy in a linen closet.

"Lu-" He was cut off as she pulled him in with a rather vicious tug. With a solid oomph, he landed on the ground, cushioned by baskets of blankets and sheets. Lucy poked her head out the door before quietly closing it, leaving them in the darkness. He was suddenly aware that he was with Lucy in a dark room full of bedding. The irony was not lost on him.

He could hear her rocking back and forth on her heels by the door, and he got the feeling she wanted him to be quiet. Then, she exhaled and tiptoed over to him. Giggling none too quietly, she fell back onto the downy blankets and soft linens. In the dark, she had obviously misjudged her distance, as she landed halfway on him, and halfway on some pillows. She just could not stop laughing, and it was beginning to get to him. He was not even sure why he chuckled. He only knew hers was infectious.

Footsteps reverberated down the hallway, moving closer and closer to the closet. And then he realized what was going on.

"You're playing hide-" He was cut off, _again_, but it was well worth it. To keep him quiet, Lucy had straddled his waist and pressed her hands to his mouth. It was enough to keep him speechless.

She really was awful at the game. Her attempt to keep from giggling had her quivering on top of him. If she kept shaking she was going to knock them into some shelves, and then she would definitely get caught. Caspian rolled his eyes, and gripped her waist with his hands. If they were discovered, she would forever blame him for it. But Lucy did not seem to notice; she just kept on trembling in his hold.

The footsteps slowed down to a halt just outside the door. The last thing he wanted was a disappointed Lucy. "Come here," he whispered into her hands. When she did not move, his hands crept their way around her waist until they were flat against her shoulder blades. She gasped in pleased understanding. With yet another giggle (how did she ever win?), she laid down until every inch of her was flush against his body. So he was manipulating the situation – big deal. She was warm and pliable, and fit perfectly against him.

Somebody was about to open the door.

Realizing what position they could be found in, he pulled on a basket on the shelf above them until the blankets in it toppled onto them. He prayed it was enough to shield them from prying eyes.

The door finally snapped open. Caspian held Lucy tightly against him, pinning her until she was still. She did not even breathe, let alone giggle or shake. He could feel her heartbeat echo through his chest. Though she was thin and shapeless by Telmarine standards, she was so incredibly supple. He could feel the heat from her bound breasts, her breath on his ear.

Suddenly he was the still one. Something warm coiled in his belly, making his blood pool like melted chocolate. His hands, once steadying her, now fought to keep from shuddering against her skin. This was not _fair_. He felt everything, and she felt nothing.

The person looking for her was far from his mind as she buried her face into his neck. He was unaware of the door closing, not when her lips brushed the pulse in the hollow of his throat. But as soon as it clicked into place, Lucy shot up in a twirl of blankets and fabric. She was giggling again, sitting on him like he was her chaise lounge.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She was all giggles and bounciness, which was entirely unfair. Just as he was about to pitch a fit and call her a minx… well, he would never call her a minx. But just as soon as he thought it, she bent down and pressed those soft lips of hers against the corner of his mouth. It was accidental, yet so dizzying. The dark made her clumsy, not that she was supremely graceful. He would take what he could get.

She leapt off of him, tripping until she was out the door and into the sunshine.

"Run run, as fast you can! You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!"

As she ran down the hallway, presumably to the 'base', all Caspian could do was lay there in a tangled heap of blankets, pillows and confusion. The corner of his mouth still burned. A strange lethargy settled in his bones. He was despondent and overjoyed all at once. The moment had been so perfect and yet so flawed.

It took him several minutes, but he made it out of the closet just fine. Of course, the maid who had to clean it up would probably try to poison his supper.

That would be okay though.

Now, he could count the moments he had with Lucy on _two_ hands.

And, if he had seen Lucy, he would have seen a breathless, bewildered young lady with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent reading reports, wining and dining, and wishing she was there with him. She had a tendency to glare at people she did not like. Whether it was out of surprise or disdain, the person on the receiving end would either fall silent or leave the room. He needed that, especially when he was forced to play chess with some Viscount's daughter. She was everything beautiful and Telmarine. She had the buttery, golden skin of the noble class. Her inky hair was curled and styled with pearls and silver; and was pulled away from her undeniably beautiful and chiseled face. This was a woman worth her weight in gold.

Caspian had absolutely no interest in her. He could not even think of anything to say to her. Which was a real problem, since he had no idea how to play chess. Keeping her distracted was proving to be an awful challenge. But she just sat there, expectantly, staring at him with piercing, honey-brown eyes. It was starting to freak him out. Any minute now, she was going to open her jaws and swallow him whole.

The better part of an hour passed. He fought to make small talk, and she eyed him like a piece of meat. The sun set, the chess board remained untouched, and they just sat there. By the stars above, she was rather frightening. She was probably already a 'black widow' at seventeen.

By the time her father arrived to take her back to the her home (which Caspian suspected was an abyss), he felt raw and exposed. She had effectively dissected him, and undressed him with her eyes on more than one occasion. Of course, he was gentlemanly and kissed her hand, but his insides were crawling. As soon as she left the room, Caspian ran out of the door and through the hallways. He did not stop sprinting until he reached the balcony that overlooked the forest. The fresh air helped to get rid of the slime covering his skin. He could literally feel the bile rising in his throat at the thought of marrying that harpy. If she was the face of marriage, then, holy hell, he was _out_. Game over.

"Hey there, Caspian!"

Okay, maybe not.

Lucy jogged over to him, perching herself on the railing before him. She was lovely, as always, in what she had told him was a periwinkle 'sundress'. Whatever it was, it left her arms and calves bare. Someday, he would have to see the world she lived in. Until then, she could keep wearing a funny clothes to appease him.

The smile on her face was self-satisfied and smacked of mischief. She looked like the cat that ate the canary.

"Lucy… What did you do?"

To answer that question, she snickered and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. It was then that Caspian noticed a curious brown streak on her chin. He had a feeling that he knew what it was, but he had to be sure. After dragging his thumb across the spot, he tasted the mysterious substance. Lucy's eyes followed his lips, though his eyes were closed as he considered the flavor. It was chocolate, rich and smooth.

And it had come from Miraz's pantry. Caspian stared at her in shock. She had the grace to look sheepish, though the emotion was not reflected in her eyes. He was just about to berate her when someone else did it for him.

"WHERE IS THAT _**GIRL**_?!"

Miraz's voice rung out clear and sharp like a gong. Lucy took a flying leap down the stairs to the field below, running towards the woods like the hounds of hell were after her. Caspian was right behind her, as fleet of foot as a wild pony. Neither was in the mood to be yelled out by an irate king.

Glozelle saw them disappear into the forest from an upstairs window, just as Miraz stomped towards him.

"Have you seen that abomination, whatever her name is?"

Glozelle stared at Miraz blankly.

"Nope."

* * *

Lucy darted as quickly as she could through the trees, like a doe escaping a hungry panther. Caspian followed her, still amazed by her speed though he had gone for a jog with her before. They did not stop running for a good ten minutes, until they were deep into the woods. The setting sun painted the forest pink and orange and indigo. Thankfully, the wind cooled their skin as they stood panting, their hands on their knees.

"What else do you do for fun? Slam your fingers in cabinet doors?" Caspian shook his head as he coughed, gulping in gallons of air.

"Hey, it's not my fault he hides the best chocolate in Beruna."

"It _is_ your fault that you went and stole it."

"Shut up already, will you?"

Caspian paced back and forth, rotating his shoulders to lessen the strain. Lucy was stretching as well, bending forward to touch her toes. He was somewhat jealous, and even more entranced by her flexibility.

"What do we now," he complained as he pulled at his heavy clothing. He'd had to dress up for the Viscount's daughter, and now he was paying the price. Apparently, being privileged meant wearing many layers. A linen shirt, then a silken chemise, followed by a slashed doublet, and finished by leather jerkin. Then he had to worry about velvet trousers and fur-lined boots. All in all, he was miserably hot. His thoughts were far away from Lucy as he started disrobing, one article of clothing at a time.

The expensive fabric pooled on the ground like very costly rainwater. By the time he was in his linen shirt and canvas breeches, he lost twenty pounds. It was so damn hot that he untied the drawstring at his collar, widening the neckline.

"I don't think I can do this anymore," he admitted quietly to Lucy. Or he would have, had she been there. Caspian groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly with one hand.

"Lucy, I'm not playing… games." Games. Wait a moment. _That_ was how she had gotten Miraz's chocolate. She had been playing hide-and-go-seek. And it seemed that she still was.

He could play along. And he could and _would_ win. It was simply another hunt for him, and she was simply another game animal; she certainly was a doe-eyed beauty.

Like in the linen closet earlier that day, she could not stop giggling. But every time he got close to the sound, it would move in the opposite direction. His awareness of her always danced just beyond his vision, close enough for her to tempt him, and far enough to frustrate his attempts. It was a silly game, really. For every step he took, she took three. He could not see her, but he sensed her motion, from the twigs she stepped on to the leaves her skin brushed.

The sun steadily disappeared beyond the horizon, but the forest was far from dark. It was alive with the flickering of fireflies and the glow of the stars. Owls hooted in the trees while meadowlarks said their last farewells. There was no need to worry about wolves or bears – the largest animals this close to the castle were deer and red foxes.

He took his time in searching for her; there was just too much to look at, too many natural wonders. The sycamore trees were tall and mighty – the moss that crept up their trunks smelled musky and pungent. The grass beneath his bare feet was crisp and cool. Every now and then he had to move aside to keep from trampling a patch of mushrooms.

The forest was good and green and life-giving. This was the kind of forest a fairy would call home, or even a phoenix. Caspian slowed to a stop, closing his eyes as he breathed in the scent of dewy foliage and flowering fruit trees. When he opened them, there was Lucy, peering at him with a quizzical brow. She was ethereal in her blue gown, her silky hair falling to her shoulders in gleaming umber hanks.

"Caspian?"

This was it. This was the moment. He could not falter in his footing or lose his courage. There was no one who could find them, no reason to hide.

Something in his expression had her startled and astonished. He could see in her eyes that she knew his intentions. More amazingly, she did not back away as he took several confident steps toward her. For one long moment, all they did was look at each other. They did not smile, or giggle – they just shared a longing, bewildered gaze. Her eyes were endlessly dark, and her cheeks were faintly flushed. She knew what she wanted, but she did not know how to ask.

With Caspian staring at her like that, she felt so _womanly_. No longer was she a little girl trying on her sister's stilettos. She was feminine and desirable, and had the attentions of a very handsome prince. Caspian was her night in shining armor – he had rescued her and given her shelter. He gave her a father and brothers. He was unfailingly true to his word. of course, he had his insufferable moments. He whined and complained about being a prince and growing up in general. But he always came to her first.

It was part of the reason she had been avoiding him. He made her nervous and jumpy. Every time he smiled, she felt him worm his way into her heart.

And now he was staring at her like a man stared at a woman. There would be no chivalrous courting culminating in a first embrace. It was now or never.

Caspian could see many emotions in her eyes. Confusion, resignation, eagerness, timidity, but never fear. If that was not a step in the right direction, then nothing ever would be. He could feel shyness start to tear down his courage. And so, before he lost his nerve, he cupped her cheeks in his hands, and pressed his mouth to hers.

It was a first kiss – slow, gentle, and cautious. Caspian was by no means tentative in handling Lucy, but he did not scare her in his approach. And then she responded, her slender, feminine hands threading through the hair over the nape of his neck. It gave him the valor to take it to push forward. His lips, dry and slightly chapped, pulled at hers in light, teasing caresses, inviting her to react in kind. She did her best to follow his lead, but most of her energy was devoted to remaining upright. When he felt her going weak in the knees, he lowered them to the ground; helping her to sit in his lap, never taking his mouth off of hers.

Caspian hated to go slow, not when he wanted to lay her in the grass and acquaint himself with every inch of her skin. But her lips would do for now. Eventually she grew more confident with herself, and was enticing him with the gentle, teasing pressure of her teeth. It was all so unhurried and measured, but after several moments, he could not be leisurely or worry about being mild.

She gasped when his mouth opened over hers, his tongue snaking through her lips to tangle with her own. Though hesitant, she did not shy away. Of course, the brush of her tongue against his was uncertain and questioning, but still intoxicating.

As he handled her like porcelain, he came to the conclusion that she had never been kissed before. It was an elating and disheartening bit of information. On one hand, he was thrilled to be her first (and, if he had any say, last), but he was not looking forward to taking baby steps.

His heart fell as she pulled away, looking very bashful. Her eyes, wide and glassy, focused on his collarbones. He let out a contented sigh, and gathered her to his chest. She sagged against him as his arms wrapped around her.

"That's enough for now," he whispered into her hair.

"Did I do well?" She sounded breathless and timid, like she had disappointed him.

"You did wonderfully."

"I promise to get better."

"So, we get to do this again?"

She did not answer with words. Rather, she left a lingering trail of kisses up his throat, before gently nibbling on his ear lobe.

He took that for a yes.

* * *

I know, I know. Innocent fluff. The next one will be all dark, hot romance. Meow!

Thanks guys. You make it worthwhile.


	31. One Shot: Christmas

Woohoo! Hello everyone! How goes it? Oh, me? Well, I'm good. School is out, so I'll be having some extra free time.

This is my Christmas gift to all of you. It does not fit in with the formal storyline. It is, however, a continuation of the first special. You know, the one with the game of hide and seek.

Enjoy!

* * *

"I don't want a cape."

"Why not? There's nothing warmer than flowing velvet."

"I don't need all that extra fabric swinging around."

"Then how are you going to keep warm?"

"I'll go have a riding coat made in the village."

"No rough-handed textile peddler has better tailoring skills than I!"

Caspian watched the exchange with a slight smile. Lucy stood atop a small stool, draped in luxurious fabrics as the royal seamstress fussed around her like a frantic bumble bee. It was a battle of wills between the two women, one that Caspian had initiated.

The days were growing shorter and the nights bitterly cold. With each sunset, Caspian's hopes slowly but surely grew. There was no sign, no bad omen that even hinted she might be taken away from him. He had spent many sleepless nights searching through maps and manuscripts, and he had yet to find even a legend about an island called England. There was a chance, a small chance, but a chance nonetheless… that she might stay.

With him.

But the first thing she needed was some winter clothing! There had been frost on the ground for the past few weeks, and he could practically smell the approaching snowstorms. Shepherds tending their flocks high in the mountains had sent news of fat and heavy grey clouds rolling across Archenland. Old men in the streets complained about their knees hurting, birds were flying south, Miraz was wearing more furs than usual – all of these were perfectly trustworthy barometers.

"Young ladies of the court always wear charming shawls and mantles. I have sewn and hemmed most of them."

"Then you'll know that I am not a lady of the court, and I frankly couldn't care less about _charming_ capes."

"You, little miss, need all the help you can get when it comes to being charming!"

Lucy gasped and glanced at Caspian, who was reclining on a daybed, eating bread with cheese and drinking mulled wine. Even dressed as a poor hunter, he looked regal. He mouthed _'I don't agree'_ and winked. It placated her enough that she stopped glaring at him, but not enough that she stopped glaring at the thin-lipped clothier.

"_Charming_," she spit the word out like it burned, "or not, I don't want a cape. I'm sure I'll make do on my own. I can borrow a coat until spring."

The seamstress was horrified. "A coat? Unheard of! Only peasants and blacksmiths wear coats!"

Lucy sighed and pointed at herself. "I would be a peasant."

"Then why am I here," the seamstress asked impatiently as she adjusted the ribbon in her thin grey hair.

"Because _I_ personally asked you to be here," Caspian said with supreme authority. His expression was drawn and tight, but Lucy could see the hint of a smile in his dark eyes. She had been with him long enough to know when he was serious and when he was all talk.

The seamstress seemed to be struggling with some internal battle. Her lips were thin and puckered, and her eyes nearly popped out of her skull as she tried _not_ to disrespect the prince.

"Do you want leather or suede?"

* * *

Little, if anything, had changed since Lucy and Caspian had kissed. They had not kissed again. In fact, they had rarely even spoken; and it had been more than three months! There had been field exercises, troops to oversee, parties to plan (winter was ball season), and other trivial matters.

In reality, however, Lucy greatly appreciated her time alone. As the months grew colder, so did she. It was harder being away from home than she thought it would be. She was even starting to miss St. George's, hellish as it was. Not only that, but Christmas was approaching, and, sad to say, she was desperate to celebrate it; but there was no one in the castle who even understood the concept of Christmas.

* * *

"_So… why would I want to celebrate someone else's birthday?"_

"_Why wouldn't you? On his birthday, __**everyone**__ gets presents!"_

"_But I should be the only one receiving presents, because I am so much more special than everyone else."_

* * *

Maybe talking to Prunella was a bad decision. As was talking to Glozelle.

* * *

"_So a man dressed in red breaks into your house through the chimney."_

"_Um… well, he's kind of invited."_

"_Then why doesn't he use the door?"_

"_Um…"_

"_He sounds like a rapist."_

* * *

Needless to say, it looked like she would be celebrating on her own. Surprisingly, however, it was turning out to be a very simple process. Sure, she had no lights or tinsel, or even ice skates, but she did have other endless supplies. Over the course of two weeks, she had strung together hundreds of cranberries and almonds. Caspian had donated several actual sugar plums, which she learned were just balls of sugar. But they made for very pretty and practically nonperishable tree ornaments; along with the pears and apple made of marzipan (lots of people were willing to donate those).

Finding a tree was a little hard. There was no way in hell she was getting a tree into the castle (getting flowers was hard enough), so she would have to decorate one outside. Which was fine with her – she was actually looking forward to having the animals feast on her decorations (she wanted to see paw and hoof prints on Christmas morning).

"Good people all this Christmas time, consider well and bear in mind," she sang softly to herself as she threaded string through small peanut butter filled pastries, "What our good God for us has done, in sending his beloved son." Her fingers stumbled slightly, smearing some of the sticky pastry on her knuckles. "With Mary holy we should pray, to God with love this Christmas day. In Bethlehem upon that morn, there was a blessed messiah born."

Eventually her hands grew steady enough that she could work blindfolded, which gave her plenty of time to think about what she wanted to get Caspian. Even though he did not celebrate Christmas, or even know what it was, she could still give him a present. But what?

'_A new bridle? No, too practical – I want him to __remember__ it. What about a cake? That won't do. He has some of the finest bakers I've ever encountered. I could always do what Susan does and just shag him until he forgets I was supposed to get him a gift… But he doesn't know I'm supposed to give him a gift.'_

"What could he possibly want that he doesn't have," she questioned herself morosely before popping a spare cherry pastry in her mouth.

"I still don't understand why you're determined to give presents to people who really don't deserve them."

Lucy nearly choked as Glozelle addressed her. The general was dressed casually for once, even to the point of comfort. Soft lambskin replaced leather. Instead of chainmail, there was linen. His eyes were bright and glassy, and there was a mysterious bottle dangling precariously from his fingers.

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

"Indeed. I'm not even sure how I'm standing right now."

Sighing, she patted the cushion next to her. Glozelle took the invitation, and it was a good thing he did, for his legs were shaky and his steps uneven. Apparently confused, he stared around the space as if he had never seen it before.

"Why are we in a pantry?"

Unable to keep her giggling to herself, Lucy leaned against the inebriated general, who, accordingly, slung his arm around her shoulders like the father she needed.

"I'm in a pantry so I can finish making garland for my Christmas tree."

He burped, actually _burped_, against her ear. To make it worse, he smelled like cheap ale. "Ah yes, your silly little holiday in which you give presents to people who don't deserve them. Why are we in a pantry again?"

Glozelle never repeated anything twice.

"Just how drunk are you?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure tomorrow morning I will wake up in someone else's clothing in a house I won't remember entering."

Lucy smiled sadly. "Prunapismia is leaving with Miraz for Archenland, isn't she?"

Nothing in his expression or posture hinted that he was at all affected by her question. A general had to be unyielding and in control of himself; but she could feel his unhappiness in her own heart. He never told her his story, but there were rumors.

"She left this morning."

Her smile fell, and she almost started to cry. "And you came to see me?"

Glozelle said nothing, but he grinned lopsidedly.

She kissed his cheek. "I'm glad you did."

He stared at her for a moment, before his expression lightened.

"I remember what I'm doing here now."

Lucy nodded encouragingly.

"Caspian wants to see you."

* * *

Sometimes, when Miraz would leave the castle for an extended period of time, Caspian would enter the false king's chambers, which used to belong to his father. Little had changed since Miraz had assumed the throne. There were new blankets and sheets on the bed, but the navy blue damask curtains were still the same. His mother's sewing chair was still by the window, as worn as it ever was. The portraits of kings long past still hung on the walls, and the boldly patterned rug from Calormen, while starting to fray, was as colorful as ever.

But the clothes in the wardrobe belonged to Miraz. By the fire was his uncle's favorite burgundy velvet couch, which, in Caspian's qualified opinion, was hideous; but there it was, as ugly and opulent as its owner.

'_Why do I even come up here,'_ Caspian lamented as he crossed his arm over his chest. It was just so depressing.

'_You came up here,'_ he told himself determinedly, _'because you wanted to bring Lucy up here.'_

Well, it had been three hours, and Lucy had yet to appear. Did Glozelle take a detour? The general was spiteful at times, but this was strange even for him.

Just as he was preparing to go and find his little friend himself, which would have taken hours, he heard light, quick footsteps approaching the door. Only one person had such a hurried yet delicate way of walking. He smiled and opened the door.

"Hello," he whispered as he tugged her in. Lucy's cheeks were fairly pink and her breathing was deep. She must have been running; but why?

"You idiot! Miraz's chambermaids will be here in less than a minute!"

He gasped and winced as she told him the news. Strangely enough, Miraz's personal servants were actually loyal to him, and would waste no time in telling the king about the prince's intrusion.

"Well, it's a good thing I wanted to show the secret passage in here, isn't it?" She caught on very quickly and grinned, rocking back on her heels in delight. But there was something wrong. The passage was awfully cold in winter, and she was barefoot and without a coat. Without thinking, he took off his cape and wrapped it around her. He was about to take off his boots to give her his socks, but there was talking just outside the door; the maids were there to pilfer/clean the royal bedchamber.

"Quickly," he mouthed to her as he ducked under the bed, pulling her with him. It was rather dusty, and he wanted to sneeze, but he was able to find the panel in the wall just under the headboard. Lucy seemed to understand how bad the situation would be if she made any noise, so she was as quiet as a mouse. The lock was clicking, a sure sign they would be caught, but Caspian pushed the panel in; it swung forward on well-oiled hinges, letting in an icy draft. He pointed to himself, then to Lucy and the open, darkened entrance. She nodded, and then he was crawling through the hole.

There was a rather steep drop to the ground below, which was why he went first – the top of his head barely reached the bottom of the entrance. Lucy went feet first, as she had heard the echo of his boots against the ground. Ever the gentleman, Caspian gathered her in his arms before she could fall. It was a rather sloppy catch, as she ended up hauled over his shoulder, but it was a catch nonetheless.

The door to Miraz's room clanged open, and the voice of his favored maid (who was once his nanny) filled the room. She was speaking to another female, and they were laughing so raucously that they did not here the panel click shut.

For a few moments they were completely silent, as neither was in the mood to get caught. They could hear the maids scuffle and shuffle about the large room, talking and chatting like geese in a farmyard. Caspian was thankful that Lucy, for the most part, was rather quiet (though she could talk up a storm given the opportunity).

"Can you please put me down?" Lucy asked from where her mouth was pressed against his back. Neither of them noticed that Caspian's hands were placed on her thighs to keep her steady.

"I haven't been down here in years. Who knows what could be on the ground? Besides, your feet are bare. You could catch a cold."

She sighed exasperatedly. "You mean catch cold. You cannot catch a cold through cold weather – only through the spread of germs can you catch a cold."

"I don't care either way. It's too cold."

"Fine, jackass. What are we even doing down here?"

Caspian paused. "I actually don't know."

"Great. We're in the dark for no apparent reason."

"There's a reason! I just can't remember it right now."

By now both were a bit huffy and _more_ than a bit cold. Caspian began precariously moving through the corridor, pitch black as it was. The hidden passage was actually quite spacious. He suspected it had once been an escape route for the first of the Caspian kings. But now it was just a fun place to hide, for Caspian would _never_ tell Miraz about it.

Lucy was not having a good time at all. The blood was rushing to her head, and she was very cold. When the pressure on her temples became too great, she ended up tucking her fingers into Caspian's back pockets to prop herself up. Caspian, of course, nearly stumbled and fell to the ground.

"Why the hell are you touching my - "

"Butt, rear end, backside, behind, ass?"

"I was going to say pants, but yes… all of those."

"Because my head is starting to hurt."

"Well, if you insist on manhandling me, slide those hands down further. If I'm going to be groped, I want to be groped properly."

Lucy responded by kneeing him soundly in the chest.

He laughed hoarsely (as it hurt!) and tugged her down until they were flush against each other, chest to chest. Her nose brushed his, his arms came about her waist, and she dangled inches above the floor. Suddenly they were both very warm, and their hearts started beating very quickly.

None of Caspian's earlier bashfulness seeped into the moment. That first kiss was wonderful and new, but he was sure that the second would be quite different; and while this was not the most romantic of settings, it was still the two of them alone – just the way he liked it.

And so he kissed her. It was a tidy kiss, just the firm press of his mouth against hers. When he pulled back, it was over. It was neither too soon, nor too late. He could not see if she smiled or frowned.

"If someone would offer to buy you a present, what would you want," she asked rather unexpectedly. The moment over, he shifted and maneuvered her until he was carrying her in a position called 'bridal-carrying', though he had never seen any bride being carried in such a way. Most were carted off to make babies as soon as possible.

"I have everything I need and want. Materials gifts are pointless. I usually end up donating them to villagers who can't pay their taxes."

"I'm serious! There has to be something you want that you don't have," came her soft inquiry as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"My parents don't count, do they?" he asked, tightening his hands around her waist and knees.

"I made that wish once. It was the first Christmas after they had died. It didn't come true." They had once spoken about their respective deceased parents; they never spoke of them again. The most he could reply was a soft 'hmm' – it was that much of an unwelcome subject.

"Speaking of Christmas, whatever it is… Have you decided what you're going to do?" It was clear from the tone of his voice that he was teasing her.

"Yes I have! I'm going to decorate a tree in the forest. I _was_ going to get you a gift, but you're being such a curmudgeon that I'm reconsidering it," she emphasized with a sharp pinch on his shoulder.

"You'll just have to give me something on _my_ birthday instead."

Lucy said nothing, but he could feel her tense up briefly.

As they walked, ribbons of light would occasionally stream in from cracks in the walls and ceiling. They heard footsteps and conversations, and even baying hounds at one point. Sometimes the temperature would warm before plummeting again. It was almost boring.

But then they passed a small window, and everything changed. The walls of the passage were painted with all sorts of colors and scenes. The styled reminded Lucy of old Byzantine religious icons and medieval portraits. There was Celtic-like scroll work swirling throughout each image. Lords and ladies danced, hunters gave chase to deer, knights saved maidens, dragons roared… it was lovely and breathtaking.

Lucy broke free from Caspian's grasp, and it was only out of surprise that he released her. The floor was indeed cold, but she noticed not. Instantly, she was inches away from the wall, taking in every brush stroke with awe and delight. She knew instantly which pictures were of royalty, for there was _real_ gold leafing on their crowns. The gowns on the women were long and straight, free of the boning and hoop skirts worn by current Telmarine nobility. It was as if every fairy tale told to her had come to life.

Caspian hissed when he saw her feet touch the ground, so he took off his vest for her to stand on (he seemed to be losing most of his clothes to her).

"They're just pictures," he quipped in boredom. He had seen those thousands of times, having walked this hall since his childhood. With his hands were momentarily free, he found a candle he had probably left there years ago. A second later it was lit, and Lucy saw even more.

She gasped as the full scope of the illustrations was revealed. Everything but the floor was covered in portrait. The ceiling above was the night sky, a sea of golden stars glimmering on a navy blue background. With little thought to the cold stone beneath her toes, she took the candle from Caspian (without asking), and moved slowly down the corridor.

There were pink-winged fairies, and laurel crowned nymphs, a huntress with a golden bow, and even a little girl leading a flock of geese around. But her favorite picture was the profile of an embracing couple. The woman was dressed in a white, gossamer gown that flowed down her lean, tall figure like water. She had yellow hair, and pale skin like the glow of a pearl. Her prince was tall, dark and lean, and held his lady like a lover would. They stood together in a snowy wooded area, surrounded by falling snowflakes.

There was nothing grandiose about the picture, nothing that truly made it stand out from the crowd. Maybe it was just the season, but it reminded her of the Nutcracker, of the scene in the pine forest, in which Clara transforms from a little girl into a young woman, and then meets her tall, Nutcracker cavalier, who has eyes only for her. She could almost hear the strains the first few bars of magical music.

Caspian, on the other hand, saw an insipid picture of a queen and king. There were much grander images in the castle, and she preferred these amateurish, scrawled pictures?

"Sometimes I really doubt your taste," he casually remarked with the intent of provoking a playful argument.

"You really are an asshole, you know that?"

Well, _that_ was not an expected reaction, so much so that he reconsidered the picture. It still seemed to be the work of a child, but it had its merits.

"Why do you like it?" he asked disapprovingly. It was just so… ordinary.

"Because it reminds me of a Christmas tradition back home in England."

He scoffed. "I really don't understand this whole Christmas celebration."

"No, you don't!" she snapped back tightly. "You don't get it, and you probably never will! And, for once, I don't care at all!"

Caspian gasped as she glared at him. She had never, _ever_ appeared this angry. "Don't you know how lonely I am?" she continued without pity. "You don't, do you? You don't understand how I miss my family, my traditions, and even the weather, do you?

"I've spent months, _months,_ away from everything and everyone I know. And I've put on a happy face and quietly dealt with it! But you and Glozelle and Miraz and _everyone_ else just don't know how hard it is to assimilate, how hard it is to be quiet.

"And now, I try to introduce something special to me, something I _cherish_, and all you do is blow me off and tease me about it! You know what? I don't even care. I really don't. I won't talk about it anymore, or try to include you, but do me a favor; leave me alone until January, okay?"

Caspian could barely breathe. Each word was as heavy and painful as the blow of a hammer. His throat was dry and his chest ached. Even more peculiar and unpleasant were the tears prickling his eyes. Nothing she said was particularly insulting to him. Instead, he felt ashamed and guilty. Lucy's glare relented into something resembling frustration and general unhappiness.

"I want to go to my room."

Nodding, he quietly led her out of the secret tunnel, away from all of those wonderful drawings and away from her angry accusations.

* * *

Christmas Eve came in all its insistence, and, for the first time ever, it brought no joy. Even the Christmas after the death of her parents brought comfort in the form of her siblings. But this one… this one was agonizing. She was alone, a stranger in a strange land. Though she was tired and just wanted to hide, she loaded up a sleigh with all of her edible creations, and yards of ribbons and beads.

Lucy still had Caspian's cloak, and though it almost made her sick, she had to wear it to keep warm. She waited until sunset, and then she began her journey, tugging her heavy load. The forest was dark, but light at the same time. The moon's glow kept her company, chasing away the shadows that threatened to consume her. The bitter cold hurt her eyes, but she trudged on through the thicket with steely determination.

She wanted a river to skate on, a hill to fly a sled down. She wanted snow angels and mistletoe, and bread pudding to fight Susan for. She wanted gifts to give and receive, and family portraits by the fire.

And what did she have? She had chapped lips, silence, and tired feet.

A suitable tree was hard to find. They were either too tall or too bare; but she eventually found a suitable candidate.

It was a blue spruce, short and fat with strong branches. It had the perfect shape and top, and smelled heavenly. It was beautiful, but she saw nothing but the task ahead, nothing but the tedium of being alone.

Despite her complete disinterest and lonesomeness, she was able to hang each edible adornment, each tasty strand of garland. Her style had always been regimented, and it still was. No two similar ornaments could be next to each other, or two similar colors. Without the glimmer of strung lights to highlight her handiwork, the tree seemed rather lackluster, though it was quickly becoming heavy with various candies and treats. She was bored and quickly killing her Christmas spirit. There was only one thing to do that would save the magic of Christmas's past.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light," she sang softly as she hung a marzipan peach. "From now on our troubles will be out of sight." Her eyes watered as she carefully wrapped some cranberry garland the base of the tree.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas - make the yuletide gay. From now on our troubles will be miles away."

The sugar plum she was holding fell to the ground, and she gazed at the tree with unseeing eyes.

"Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yours." Her voice could barely manage a whisper, but she kept on singing. "Faithful friends who are dear to us, gather near to us, once more."

By now she was gasping for breath and quivering so hard her teeth were beginning to click against together. "Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow. So hang a shining star upon…" It was too much for her. She knelt on the hard, cold ground and began to cry – cry for herself, her family, and the world she was beginning to think she would never see again.

To make things worse, it started to snow. Big, plump flakes fell on her dark hair and eyelashes, sticking to her cheeks like they were trying to erase her tears tracks.

Lucy covered her face with her hands, and let out a muted, keening moan. Sobs wracked her thin body, and she could barely keep herself from falling over. She wept and wept and wept, and he did not care if anyone saw her in such a ragged state. Every ill feeling, every tender ache, hit her like a speeding train, paralyzing her with painful accuracy.

Caspian, from his position just a few feet behind her, had no words that could describe such acute sadness. He felt naked and exposed as he watched her cry, like some perverted voyeur; but there was no pleasure to be found anywhere, not for miles.

He had not followed her without reason. Her coat, which he planned to give to her as a Christmas gift, was finished. It was jet black, made of the finest lambskin he could find. The trim was the best rabbit fur available to his seamstress, and the lining was cashmere. It was perfectly fitted to her frame, and was no longer than a riding jacket.

Like a moth drawn to a devastating flame, Caspian padded over to her, falling to his knees with no strength left for himself. Whatever strength he did have, he would give to her. There was nothing he could say that seemed appropriate, and he suddenly cursed his lack of words. The only thing that came to mind was to keep her warm, so he placed his package to his side, and wrapped his arms around his precious charge.

She seemed to know his presence, and lean into the embrace, pressing her face against his collar, where her tears soaked clear on through to his skin. He rested his chin on the top of her head, and rocked the two of them back and forth until she grew so tired that her sobbing tapered off into gasping hiccups. She shivered, but he knew the snow was not to blame.

"I think we need to get inside," he whispered to her as the snow really began to fall. But she shook her head and started to pull back. Her face and eyes were red, and her lips looked painfully dry.

"I need to finish," she insisted with as much vehemence her exhaustion would allow. He may not have understood the holiday, but he understood her need to complete her task.

"I'll do it," he said after a moment, taking off his heavy cloak. Of course, he bundled her in it, for she would always come first.

It only took a brief glance at the tree to understand what he needed to do, and without a second thought, he briskly began hanging the rest of the decorations. He was no artist, but he was actually proud of the way the tree looked by the last strand of festoon. What impressed him most of the final ornament. It was a star made of spun sugar, as clear as glass. He handled it delicately as he marveled over the craftsmanship that went into this simple confection.

"I need to put that on," Lucy whispered. He turned to her, and was heartbroken by her distressed expression. She had stopped crying, but he was certain it was only because there were no more tears left in her.

She stood on shaky legs and held her little hands out to him. The tips of her fingers were red, and there was dirt under her nails. Caspian nodded, and gently handed over the star. Her arms were wobbly, and not nearly long enough to reach the tree's top. But her determination shown through, and he matched it with strength, lifting her from the ground so she could crown her tree.

It was beautiful, awash in different colors and smelling like a pastry shop; but he was the only one who saw its loveliness, for as soon as the star was placed Lucy had turned away, hiding her face against his chest.

"Can we go inside now?"

"Absolutely."

The coat, still wrapped in parchment paper, was left beneath the tree.

* * *

Some hours later, they were in Caspian's room, laying together amongst the pillows and blankets, with Lucy's back to Caspian. Both were fully dressed, too exhausted (for different reasons) to change. Lucy's hair was damp from the snow, and she would not let Caspian try to dry it. So they just laid there, slowly warming as the fire's glow washed over them.

"I'm sorry for being so selfish," Lucy whispered meekly. Caspian frowned and trailed a single finger down the line of her spine.

"I've been selfish, Lucy. I didn't think you would be lonely. I tried treating you like a princess, but… somewhere I knew it wouldn't be enough. I just didn't want to admit it."

She turned over onto her back, and stared at the canopy above. "It's nothing you've done or haven't done. It's just… hard, you know? This is something I don't think can be fixed. I don't even know if it was broken." She looked remarkably better. No longer red and puffy, her skin was once more pale and perfect. But her eyes were flat and lifeless.

"We could fix it together."

"No, we really can't."

That hurt more than anything.

"But you could hold me tonight."

And he did just that, as closely as he could. As he did, he started to get an idea of what Christmas really meant to Lucy. It was not about giving gifts, it was more abstract than that, and infinitely deeper. She said once that Christmas was the greatest gift of all.

If that was the case, then Lucy was his Christmas.

* * *

The next morning came, just as it always did. The room was cold, as the fire had gone out, but Lucy and Caspian were nice and toasty beneath the covers, curled around one another like lovers. The sky was grey outside the window, but the snow had stopped at least. The day was new, the world was white, and the night before seemed like it was years ago.

Lucy awoke rather swiftly, some of that old childish anticipation seeping into her bones. When she saw what she was in, however, it swiftly vanished; though some of it came back as she looked at Caspian. He was a mess of wrinkled clothes and tangled hair.

"How did I get so lucky," she questioned the air around her as she brushed away the locks covering his eyes. Her fingertips roused him, and then he was looking up at her with those big, black eyes.

"Is it morning?" he asked with a husky voice.

"Yes."

Caspian smiled. "Happy Christmas."

Lucy's grin could have lit the whole night sky with its brightness; but before he could appreciate it, she was out of bed and putting on Caspian's cloak.

"What are you doing," he asked impatiently. "It's much too early to be awake."

She did not listen, and before he could stop her, she was flying out the door and down the stairs. He was quick to follow, and soon he was chasing her across the snowy field. It was so cold, but there was fast as the wind that shakes loose leaves from the trees.

"Why are we running?!" he called after her.

"I want to see if any animals ate from the tree!"

"You mean to tell me that last night happened because you wanted to put a buffet together?!"

That halted her in her tracks, making her giggle merrily. He jogged to her side and laughed with her, absently tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. They walked slowly, until they were just strolling to their destination. Their conversation was light and flirty, and focused on no particular topic, but one particular theme.

"So why decorate a tree?"

"I really don't know. Apparently it has to do with a pagan tradition, something about how the only living plants in winter are the evergreen trees."

"Either way, it's a rather lovely tradition."

They walked and walked, talked and talked, keeping each other company as they searched for their tree.

But the tree they found was nothing like theirs. Lucy gasped at the sight of it. There were no paw prints or hoof marks, but the edible arrangements were gone nevertheless. In their place was porcelain and crystal ornaments, the finest Narnia had ever seen. There were clear baubles and glass icicles, silver and gold angels, little snowflakes made of white china, and all sorts of flowers made from brightly colored precious stones. The sugar star was replaced with one made of cut crystal. Its beauty astounded her.

Caspian was stunned too, but for different reasons. There were no tracks of any kind, nothing to show who had delivered such beautiful gifts. The virgin snow remained untouched, save for their own footprints.

"It's a Christmas miracle," he whispered in awe. Lucy was delighting in each ornament, for each was beautiful in its own way. But then she noticed that there were two parcels beneath the tree, with one much larger than the other. Curious, she opened the larger of the two.

"My coat!" she exclaimed happily as she ran her fingers over the fur. Her cloak was tossed the ground as she slid into the luxurious jacket. Caspian grinned briefly.

"I was going to give it to you last night, but then... well, I'm glad you're getting it now."

Now it was Lucy's turn to be speechless. She looked bashful and slightly uncomfortable.

"Things won't be the same, will they?"

Caspian sighed.

"Probably not. But we're in a more open, honest place... aren't we?" He sounded unsure.

"We are," she quickly responded.

"Then, the prince allowed himself a small, sad, regretful frown - as did Lucy. It was then that they knew their forever would be very different from everyone else's - if they had forever at all.

Lucy gasped. "There are two presents!" she said with more vigor than usual. Caspian smiled a bit too eagerly and reached for it the same time she did, bumping his hand against hers. They both laughed a little, and she let him pick it up.

Especially since it was addressed to him.

"Is this from you?" he asked curiously.

"No. Remember, you never told me what you wanted."

He responded by lightly smacking her arm. Then he tore through the red and green paper. Under it was a box, and within that box was...

"A music box?"

Indeed, it was a music box, with an embracing couple engraved into its silver face. Swirling snow surrounded the two lovers.

"That's the couple from the painting!"

"It is," he said. Mystified, he turned the key. A song he did not know tinkled merrily from the toy. It was rhythmic and sweet, most certainly a dancing song.

"That's the 'Waltz of the Flowers!'," Lucy chimed in excitedly, smiling at him so happily it was as if she had never known sadness.

"Unless I am mistaken," he began slowly. "You taught me, rather clumsily, how to waltz."

"I did, didn't I? Well then." She stepped away, and held her hand out to him. "Would you care to dance?"

He answered immediately. "I would love to."

With her hand on his shoulder, and his hand on her waist, they spiritedly, if clumsily, waltzed along to the Christmas classic.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered.

And she truly meant it.

* * *


	32. One Shot: The Night Before Christmas

_'Twas the night before Christmas  
And in Miraz's castle,  
Prunapismia was complaining  
And being quite the hassle_

_The servants were tired  
And ready for bed  
But their mistress was fighting  
With a man she wished dead_

_Glozelle was her real love  
Everybody knew that  
But they were no longer together  
And were engaged in quite the spat_

_"You're useless and old!"  
She shouted with spite  
There were other obscenities  
A gossip's delight_

* * *

"How is that you can come up with a poem off the top of your head, but you can't fully explain what Christmas is?"

"Shut up, you freak. I want to hear what they're saying."

It was, indeed, the night before Christmas, and Prunapismia and Glozelle were raising quite the racket. Just before midnight, the future queen arrived at the palace, having abandoned Miraz for the evening. Glozelle was there, drunk and furious at Prunapismia, for no other reason than her status as a glorified whore (those were Caspian's words – Lucy called her 'easy').

Only hours before, Caspian and Lucy returned from decorating her Christmas tree, cold, achy and miserable. Only _minutes_ before, they'd fallen asleep with runny noses and chapped lips. Now they were awake, holding each other fearfully because of the screaming match just outside their doorway.

"You whore!" Glozelle shouted when something glass shattered. Lucy gasped and pressed herself tighter against Caspian, her face tilted into his hard chest, away from the door. Caspian kissed the crown of her head and cupped the nape of her neck with his left hand.

"Do they do this often?" Lucy whispered when Prunapismia said something absolutely foul about Glozelle's naughty bits.

"Only when they're within three feet of one another."

Caspian yawned and leaned his head against the headboard. He and his little charge were tired, and those two bratty adults were doing nothing but keeping them from sleep.

"We could've been happy together!" Prunapismia shrieked like a banshee. "I was there, ripe for the taking!"

Glozelle barked out a harsh laugh. "Yes, well, someone else got to plucking your fruit before I came home. I was a soldier, _milady_. There are other things more important than your dowry!"

Lucy groaned and went limp, sagging against Caspian like a boneless cat. "What time is it?"

"It's probably past midnight," Caspian informed her unenthusiastically. "The moon's high in the sky now."

"Well, merry Christmas then," Lucy said sweetly. She stretched upwards, and kissed his throat neatly. Caspian chuckled.

"Why don't you go fuck a fish, Prunapismia?! It wouldn't be the first slimy thing between your legs!"

Sighing in tandem, Lucy and Caspian pulled the covers over their heads, cuddling together as Glozelle and Prunapismia went at it like cats and dogs.

"Merry Christmas," Caspian said softly into Lucy's hair. "Whatever that means."

* * *

Merry Christmas everybody!


	33. Chapter Twenty Nine

Before I say anything, before you read this chapter, I want all of you to know something.

There are 130 of you out there who have this story on your story alert. 100 people have listed it in their favorites. I am on the favorite author lists of 52 readers, as well as the author alert list of an additional 56 members. Would some of you please, PLEASE review?

Oh, and everything is explained in this chapter. And I mean _everything_.

* * *

Did I mention that you guys should review generously?

* * *

REVIEW.

* * *

Okay, here's the chapter for you. But I'm not kidding. Review.

* * *

With nothing more to say and the world pressing down on her shoulders, the badger, Trufflehunter, ushered Lucy into his tree so she could rest. She was herded as easily as a sheep.

"I'm afraid I don't have any beds big enough for you. You're tall for your age, did you know that?" the badger asked as he puttered around his small den. He was pulling the cushions off his couches and chairs, arranging them on the floor like a makeshift pallet.

"I'm only five-foot-three," she said mechanically. Trufflehunter chuckled.

"And I'm not even two-and-a-half feet tall. I'm in the winter of my life, and you're already twice my height." He chuckled again, but it was a sad sound. There was no time for joking.

Lucy descended down inch by inch onto the pillows, every bone in her body singing in protest and pain. Trufflehunter could only watch, despair written in his eyes as she carefully laid herself out. She rolled herself onto her back, resting her broken wrist on her belly. Her black and blue eyes were already so swollen that closing them was bliss.

There was no word that could describe her pain. Everything about her was broken, from her skin, to her bones, to her heart.

Trufflehunter stared at her for another moment before snuffing out all the lamps, bathing the room in darkness. Then he left, closing the door of his home behind him.

It didn't take long for Lucy to slip back into unconsciousness. Hurting was exhausting.

But as much as she hoped for a dreamless sleep, she wasn't even granted that reprieve.

* * *

_She was dreaming. She had to be, for the pain was gone. The only thing she felt was a slight, warm breeze slithering pleasantly across her skin. When she opened her eyes, she was in a forest, one she'd been in before._

"_I know this place," Lucy whispered as she looked at the canopy above her._

'_This was a golden forest with emerald leaves and silken blossoms. The breeze was honey sweet, and carried on it a wordless, tinkling chorus.'_

_But there were no animals puttering about. Her mother was absent. She was alone, completely and utterly alone. _

_Sitting up from her pillow of bluebonnets, she got to her feet, casting a glance around the deserted woodland realm. There were no birds in the trees, no butterflies or grasshoppers, nothing but her and the trees._

_And some very large, feline footprints. This time she knew what to do. Wasting no time, Lucy took off after the big cat, and just like before, night fell and snow began to fall. The trees grew tighter, and the tracks became harder and harder to follow, but she was diligent; and soon, she had caught up to the magnificent beast._

_They weren't at the lake where Caspian's and her grand pas de deux took place. Now they seemed to be at time sort of crossroads. It was a clearing, a fairy circle within the trees, with a single gaslight in the middle of it. Aslan stood beneath it, his heavy golden gaze fixed on her._

"_You want answers," he said to her with a deep, rolling voice. Lucy nodded._

"_What am I doing here?"_

_The lion began to circle her._

"_I brought you here to start a war, to inspire a long dormant forest and restore the balance of life within this kingdom."_

"_You failed," Lucy replied flatly. "The most I did is fall down a hole and piss off a few animals. Aslan laughed and came to stand directly before, a meter separating the two of them. This close, she realized how big he was. He was taller than her by nearly six inches, almost the size of a robust pony._

"_Yes. Much like Alice in Wonderland, don't you agree? But in no way did you fail. Caspian is looking for you, and when he finds you, everything will change," Aslan responded with a sad, lonely smile. "He loves you, you know. That wasn't supposed to happen."_

"_I love him too." The words came easily. It was the truth after all. "But it isn't meant to be."_

_Aslan said nothing, but she saw in his eyes that he agreed with her._

"_I want to go home," she pressed insistently. "I don't want to be here. I want to go home. I need to apologize to Susan and send Peter more letters. He's a soldier in Iraq."_

"_I know, Lucy. And I know that Edmund is about to graduate, and that you're very much afraid of being alone. I know you through and through."_

"_How did you know my mother? Clearly she knew you."_

_Aslan sighed and stepped closer, until they eye to eye. Then he carefully nosed her chin, running his cheek along hers like an affectionate housecat. It was oddly comforting, even though his head was three times the size of hers._

"_Your mother was a queen of this land, a great one at that. She was called Swanwhite, and she was a queen regnant. This was her kingdom."_

_Lucy felt detached from the situation. All of this new information neither frightened or excited her. She was just so tired, so done with Narnia and the love of her life. _

"_When it came her time to go, she asked for another chance at life, one where she was a peasant with everyday pleasures, like a husband who loved her and a house full of children. So I sent her to your world, where she met your father and had you."_

_Lucy took hold of Aslan's mane with both hands, pulling his face away from hers._

"_What happened on the day of the car crash? Why did she choose my life over hers?"_

"_Because she loved you, you silly creature," Aslan snapped curtly. "That's what parents do for their children." _

_Lucy looked down at her bare feet, and saw that she was wearing the blue dress again. This time, it fit her perfectly._

"_However, as much as it shames me, I have to admit that I didn't save you just because I loved your mother. I saved you so that someday you could come back and make things right again."_

"_I don't understand any of this. Why didn't I experience flashbacks? Why couldn't I remember anything until now?"_

_Aslan's amber gaze grew hard. "Because that's not how the world works. This isn't a fairytale or a movie. Some people may experience flashbacks, but not you. I didn't want you to remember any of it, so I made sure you wouldn't." Lucy was surprised that he knew what movies were, but he wasn't finished speaking._

"_What would your life have been like if you did remember that night? You and your siblings would've been separated. You would've been institutionalized. Your father's bastard lawyer, Roderick Baxter, was fixed on parting the four of you so he could manage your inheritance. If you had been sent to an insane asylum, you wouldn't have had what little childhood you did enjoy." Aslan cleared his throat. "By the way, that man who arranged for you and your siblings to be sent to St. Andrew's? Thank him someday. He fought hard to keep you all together."_

"_So, if I had died, everything would've been much simpler?" Tears began to fall down her face, but that was it. She didn't sob, sniffle or weep. Lucy's cheeks didn't turn pink and her lips didn't tremble. The thin, salty rivers running down her face did not retract from her beauty._

"_Absolutely not. Saving you was the best thing that could happen in such a bleak situation. If you had died, your mother would've never recovered. She would forever mourn, and her desolation would've stained your siblings' lives forever. But you, Lucy… you're a fighter. You're the one who kept Edmund, Susan and Peter from falling to pieces."_

_The lion padded away from her, and in his silence, she heard ask him to follow her. She did so without protest._

"_Peter joined the military because of you. Susan's getting married so that you can move in with her once you graduate. Edmund's going to college because you inspire him. Even that grubby little cousin of yours, Eustace Clarence Scrubb, is madly in love with you. And because of that, someday he'll turn out wonderfully._

"_Ew," was all Lucy could say. Eustace had the hots for her? Gross!_

"_Which is what happened with Caspian. You've changed him in ways he cannot fathom. He's gone from a pithy, sullen young boy to a determined and focused adult. He will make a great king." _

'_A great king,' Lucy thought sadly to herself. He would be a great king with a pretty bride and beautiful children. In her mind, she saw a brood of dark-haired, dark-eyed youngsters running around a bearded, laughing Caspian. She couldn't see the mother though, just a dark, fuzzy specter clinging to Caspian's arm. It was too tall to be her._

'_How can this be the great conspiracy I've been envisioning? It seems so simple, so base. I thought there would be more to it.'_

"_Am I going to die?" she asked after a moment. Together they walked around aimlessly, talking about terrible things with almost boredom._

"_No. Caspian would go insane if you died, and all hope would be lost."_

"_Then what awaits me when I wake up?"_

"_Unbelievable and spectacular pain. Your left wrist is broken, but it's been set properly. All of your fingernails have been ripped off. The skin of your right calf was split from your ankle to your knee, and it was too wide to stitch. Your face is nearly unrecognizable, what with you black eyes and cut lips. Your collarbone was dislocated, but it was knocked back into place by a stone."_

"_I meant with all those animals."_

"_They've calmed down for the most part. Seeing you in several pieces soothed their fears that you might rise up against them. Trufflehunter and Glenstorm are pleading your case rather successfully. Dropping my name must've worked very well."_

_Lucy swallowed past a lump in her throat._

"_And what about Caspian."_

_Aslan laughed goodheartedly. "He's scouring the forest for you, and soon he'll find you. But don't worry. You won't have to suffer through his drama for much longer."_

_Lucy frowned, one hand in Aslan's mane as she came to a halt._

"_What do you mean by that?"_

"_You're going home soon. There's nothing more that you can do here. I promise to keep Caspian safe, since you love him."_

"_And how will you do that?"_

_Aslan turned his head to her, considering her with an arched brow._

"_I will write in the stars, of course. The centaurs are brilliant astrologers, but I will make it so clear that there will be no mistaking my intent."_

"_Just what is Caspian going to do?"_

"_He's going to lead the old Narnians into war, and defeat his uncle. I just needed you to get him here, and now that he's on his way, you may go home."_

_She tightened her grip in his mane._

"_Will I get to say goodbye?"_

"_Of course my dear. But for now, rest easy."_

_And that was it. Before she could question him further, her dream world exploded in a shower of gold dust, leaving her in blessed darkness._

* * *

After dressing in some dirty clothes, Caspian trudged reluctantly to the stables. The rain had stopped by the time he got there, but the ground was thoroughly saturated. It was like prancing through cake batter.

But there was nothing sweet about Doris's injuries, or the bloody, delicate shoe he was clutching. His eyes were wide with fear as he fondled the custom made slipper. It was red, a deep shade of garnet, like fine wine. It was supposed to be pink.

And there were several toe nails in it.

"When did she come back?" Caspian hissed to the stable master as he peeled the soaked tack from Doris's back.

"A little over an hour ago. She was riderless and caked in mud and weeds. I think she tried to go into the woods, though I wouldn't know why."

"And when was she taken out?"

"Well over ten hours ago, by the little girl in the petticoat."

Caspian's throat was so tight with anxiety that he could barely breathe. People living in the hills and by the river had complained of mudslides and flash floods. Some citizens were calling it the Great Storm, although others complained that the Great Storm had happened fifty years ago. Yet others said that _that_ storm was actually the Great Wind. More others said that it wasn't the Great Wind, but rather the Devastating Frost.

Yet no one had any idea where Lucy was.

"Saddle up Destrier," he commanded with a wave of his hand as he approached Doris. Her haunches were crisscrossed with shallow cuts and scrapes, and her mane was matted with twigs and dirt. If Caspian were a centaur, or even another horse, he would've realized that Doris had risked her own life by blindly charging into the forest after Lucy. She'd looked for hours, only returning to beg Destrier for help. It was sheer luck that Glozelle had been in the barns when she'd returned.

"Good evening, sweet honey lamb," Caspian crooned as he reached into his coat. Pulling out a sugar cube, he held out his palm, letting Doris gum at his hand until she'd eaten the treat. "I have an idea, but you're not going to like it. I know you've endured hell, but I need your help. I can't promise that we'll go slowly, but I promise to treat you like a queen once Lucy is safe."

Doris nickered harshly and promptly butted the side of her head against Caspian's cheek. It hurt, but he welcomed the pain. He deserved it.

"Your majesty?" the stable master intoned as he led Destrier over to the crown prince. Without a word or second thought, Caspian hauled himself onto the saddle by its horn, grasping the reins in a one-handed, white-knuckled grip. As he urged Destrier out of the stables, he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, masking his identity. Doris followed them steadfastly behind, and as soon as they had cleared the city through several back alleys, the prince and his two horses were sprinting across the field.

From the castle, four people watched his departure with differing emotions.

Gwen stared with a heavy heart. She feared simultaneously that he _would_ or _wouldn't_ return. If he came back, he would surely have found Lucy. If he didn't, it meant that he would be spending eternity with her.

Prunapismia smiled viciously at the retreating figures from the safety of her boudoir. Yes, this was perfect. Caspian's death was all but assured. Whether or not he came back, Miraz would choose her baby to be the next king of Narnia. Even if it wasn't his child.

Glozelle kept watch over the fleeing boy, praying silently for the return of the girl he'd grown to love as a daughter. He wanted nothing more than her safe return, but at the same time, he was more than ready to kill Caspian if the order came. He was a general, not a father.

And then there was Lord Sopespian. For weeks he had been lingering in the shadows, watching Caspian gallivant with his little whore. He saw every smile, every sigh. He understood the depth of the prince's feelings for the girl.

And he would have no trouble telling Miraz that Caspian had stolen one of the king's horses, even though Doris was of little or no consequence. Much like Lucy, she was just a pawn.

An important pawn, but a pawn nonetheless.

* * *

Okay, okay, I'll admit. It seems like I'm taking the easy way out. 'But Kagura, how can Swanwhite be Lucy's mother? That's just bullshit!'

Well… it wasn't supposed to happen that way. I admit that. But have you ever been writing something that you'd been planning for a long while, only for your mind to take a completely different direction? Maybe you'd just seen a movie that had railroaded your train of thought, or the song you'd been listening to had swayed your heart?

Writers know that our stories are living, breathing documents that are constantly evolving, sometimes against our will. This is one of those times. I had little say in what was happening as my fingers flew over my keyboard. It just sort of happened. Now I have to figure out the rest of the story, while sticking with my original game plan. I know how the story is going to end, as will all of you soon. In spite of this HUGE plot twist, this story will be ending shortly.

Now, log in and review.

See you later!


	34. CONTEST

Alright, dear readers, it's contest time! I've always wanted to do something like this, and now I finally am. I'm giddy with excitement.

This constant is going to be about creativity, something none of you lack.

There are three options are far as entries go. Hence, there will be three first prize winners.

_**Option one!**_

Create an original character that you think would fit into one of my Lucian stories – _Berlin After Dark_, _Lucy and the Future King_, _The Prince of Thieves_, _Stolen Skin_, and _Standing Alone_. Whoever you create must be believable within the universe of the story. You wouldn't create a centaur for _Standing Alone_ or_ Berlin After Dark_, but you could for the other three. Also, this character cannot just show up. They have to know one of the main or supporting characters personally.

I want details. I want to know everything about their appearance, personality and history. _You_ could be the character if you wish, or you could create someone entirely new.

You can either write out a character sheet, which goes as follows.

**Name**: Jane Doe

**Age**: 18

**Height**: 5'7"

…

**How they met or know one of the story characters**: Met Lucy at school and called her a brat.

And so on, and so forth. Or you can write a small vignette, in which you write a very short story, maybe no more than a paragraph, that describes you character fully and the incident with the corresponding story character.

Whichever character who I feel is the most original and believable will be written into the universe they are based off of as a main or supporting character for an entire chapter. This will be no cameo appearance. They will directly influence the plot, and possibly appear in further chapters. I want real thought and effort going into your creation.

_**Option two!**_

You must write out the plot for one of my stories, or a _new_ story, in which a main character is killed in a matter that is believable, and will emit an emotional response from the other readers. For a new story, it can be any character you want, as long as their death affects me and the readers emotionally. You can make us cry or laugh, sneer or chuckle, but it must make sense.

For an existing character, you can kill anyone, except for the following characters: Lucy, Caspian, any member of the immediate Pevensie family (including George and Mary), Glozelle, Prunapismia and Gwen. Every other character is fair game.

You don't have to write out the scene in which they die, but I want every little detail that you can give me.

The death that appeals most to me will be written into either a current story or a new one, whichever option the entry chooses. This, of course, will affect the path of the story, so be careful in your selection.

As for the method of the killing, be as creative as you want. Just know that I will not pick anything too gory or gratuitous. There will be no gore porn. Murder is fine, however, as are natural causes. The only other stipulation for this chapter is that you have to write out the character's last words in complete sentences. They don't have to be speaking to anyone in particular, but they have to say _something_.

_**Option three!**_

Give me a plot for a completely new Christmas special that is _not_ based on any of my stories. It must be a completely original one-shot, and it must take place in a modern, alternate universe. All of the characters must be human, meaning no supernatural or Narnian creatures. You can turn some of the more human characters completely human, such as Glenstorm and Mr. Tumnus, but they must be human.

The story must be a romance story about Lucy and Caspian, and it must have a happy ending. It also must contain physical affection between the two of them, meaning this is the one option in which you can suggest not only a lemon, but even some light fetishes as well. Nothing too hardcore, of course, but maybe ice cubes, light bondage, outdoor sex, even some not-so-violent, ahem, _anal_ play. Teehee! But I want nothing painful or bloody. It must be loving and sensual.

Lucy and Caspian can be any age between sixteen and thirty-four, but the age difference between the two will be based on _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_, meaning Caspian will be five years older than Lucy. I also want this story to be thoroughly saturated with Christmas themes – Christmas cookies, Christmas trees, boughs of holly, the works.

If you choose, it can be based on one of these popular Christmas movies/stories – _The Nutcracker_, _A Christmas Carol_, _Bridget Jone's Diary_, or _Remember the Night_. It cannot, however, be a carbon copy. You can draw elements from it, but I am not rewriting any of these stories with Lucy and Caspian in place of the original characters.

There are two more parameters for this story – it must be snowing, and on Christmas Eve, the heating goes out. You can, however, use a fireplace.

I will write a one-shot based on the most romantic and appealing plot.

If you haven't notice, in each of the options, I will be writing out the winner's idea. But there are more prizes! Each of the winners will have the option of choosing one of three other prizes. They will get to read either the final chapter of _Lucy and the Future King_, the epilogue of _Lucy and the Future King_, or the first chapter of a new, mysterious project.

There are some rules, however. You can choose to enter the contest with all three options, but for each one, you must write a separate review for each entry. Any reviews containing more than one idea will be immediately discarded. You can write out more than one idea, increasing your chance of winning, but each idea must be written in a separate review.

I will reveal the winner of the first option in the next chapter of _Lucy and the Future King_, the winner of the second in the next chapter of _Berlin After Dark_, and the winner of the third in the next chapter of _The Prince of Thieves._

Have a ball, my friends, and get cracking.


	35. Deadline

Oh, and the deadline is October 1, 2010. I want to post new chapters!


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